


love's a word we've only heard

by piotsa



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: 1950s, Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, Time Travel, post-1x13
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:29:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6639607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piotsa/pseuds/piotsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon didn't tell his mom the actual plan. Of course not. He could only imagine how that would have went down.</p><p>"Hey Mom, tomorrow I'm gonna travel 70 years back in time in order to find an ancient spell book that could hold the key to stopping Valentine's Shadowhunter army. Who's Valentine you ask? Well-"<br/>>>>> EDIT: not being continued</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I couldn't get this idea out of my head. Right now, it's looking like it's going to be around 10 chapters and I'm super excited to write it, so I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Title from "Too Young" by Nat King Cole.
> 
> This chapter is broken up into the actual plot, and some flashbacks of Simon saying goodbye to his friends and family, so I'm sorry if this one seems a little disjointed. Also, Simon's a Daylighter for reasons.

He had gone home the night before. Simon didn't tell his mom the actual plan. Of course not. He could only imagine how that would have went down.

"Hey Mom, tomorrow I'm gonna travel 70 years back in time in order to find an ancient spell book that could hold the key to stopping Valentine's Shadowhunter army. Who's Valentine you ask? Well-"

Instead, Simon told her he would be going on a thing with some guys from college. An intensive accounting study-crash-course-kind-of-thing that would go on for an unknown amount of time. Simon was totally the best at cover stories. He was met with suspicion, which was understandable considering the whole drugs scare that happened when he was first Turned. And also because his cover story kind of sucked. The suspicion only grew when he hugged his mom for a solid two minutes.

"What's going on, Si?" she asked as she pulled back. She put her palm on his cheek, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone and discretely checking his temperature at the same time. A perk of being undead - his mother would never worry about him having a high temperature again. She would never force him to down some disgusting concoction of flu medicine dissolved in hot water. Never bring him chicken broth that tasted like nothing. Never fuss over him and check in on him when she thought he had gone to sleep.

Yeah, a perk. That was definitely the word for it.

"I just want you to know how much I love you. I'm so sorry for worrying you lately." He was sorry for a lot of things.

"I know you are, and it's okay, just don't do it again. I love you too." At that point he had gone in for another hug. His mom was definitely getting worried with all the affection, but in that moment Simon was just glad he was able to hug her without wanting to rip her throat out. He mostly had Raphael to thank for that, but he put the thought out of his mind. He had been working hard these past few weeks after being kicked out of the DuMort. And sure, he had Clary, the Shadowhunters and occasionally Magnus to help him out, but a lot of his progress had been his own doing.

 _You'd be nowhere if Raphael hadn't taught you the basics_ , came the thought. _Shut up_ , he thought back. And wow, having a conversation with himself was weird, even for him. He guessed the "say goodbye to your loved ones because time travel is hard at the best of times and there's a fair chance you'll die" thing was messing him up.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine. I love you," he said again, unable to look her in the eye in case he starting crying tears of blood. He headed towards the door, but he couldn't leave without saying goodbye to Rebecca. He peeked in to the living room, finding her sitting on the couch. He nearly used his vampire speed running over to hug her.

"What are you doing?" she said, her voice muffled from where she was pressed against his shoulder in a tight hug.

"Nothing," he answered. "I love you. I never say this, like ever, but I'm lucky to have you as my sister." Rebecca pulled back and, like their mother, examined him for signs of illness.

"I'll see you soon," he called over his shoulder as he left the house. He didn't look back because he knew for a fact he had bloody tears running down his face. They stained the sleeve of his shirt as he wiped them away.

 

...

 

"This is a terrible idea. Why does Simon have to be the one to risk his life? Send me instead," Clary demanded, a last ditch effort. 

"I agree, it's a terrible idea to send Simon," Alec said. Simon shot him a thumbs up from where he was sitting. "But you know it has to be him. He's a vampire, a Daylighter. He's the only one of us with a chance at surviving the time portal."

Clary pursed her lips together. Simon appreciated her efforts, he really did. He knew she would prefer it if he didn't go. But they needed this spell book. They had been over the plan 50 times and even she had to admit it was a good plan. If it worked.

And besides, it was too late to change the plan. They were preparing to open the portal _now_.

"It's okay," he put his hand on her arm. "I know what I have to do." She looked down at him from where she was perched on the arm of his chair, her forehead scrunched with worry. He knew it was wrong, but he liked seeing her looking at him like this. Knowing that she was worried about him, that she cared about him.

"You better, Samuel, because I have spent a fortune procuring all the necessary elements for this," Magnus called over from where he mixed some sort of potion. Simon could have sworn it was blue a minute ago, but now it was a vibrant pink. Magnus, in all his silk and glitter, looked completely out of place in this old warehouse, which was bare except for the few chairs and tables they had brought when they decided they would do the spell here. The Shadowhunters in their black leather nearly seemed to belong, but Isabelle stood out.

Simon was pretty sure Isabelle would stand out anywhere, but right now she too looked uneasy.

"Maybe we should run through the plan again. Just to be 100% sure," she said, shifting on her feet and glancing around at the windows.

He wasn't offended they thought he couldn't do it. Okay maybe he was. Just a little bit. A big little bit. But from the way she kept checking the perimeter, Simon guessed she was more worried about demons. Clary had told them about how demons were attracted to dimensional portals. Apparently they liked time portals just as much as dimensional ones.

It's proof of how ridiculous his life is that he just thought that in all seriousness. He fondly remembers the time when coming across the words "dimensional portal", "time portal" and "demons" just meant he had starting reading some new urban fantasy series.

"Good idea," Alec began. Clary interrupted before he could even really start.

"Find Cecil Hazelwood. Get the book. Signal us. Come home. There, not so hard." Her false cheerfulness made something drop in Simon's stomach. She had simplified the plan, but he was suddenly realizing how very real and life threatening this all was. Alec shot a glare at Clary and continued.

"You have a very narrow time frame to find Hazelwood. He was only in New York with the book for less than a month before shipping off to Europe to fight in World War II. He was visiting his ex-wife and son, whose address-"

"-I have memorized," Simon finished smugly. Alec looked just about ready to toss him through the time portal and for a moment Simon felt bad. Jace leaving with Valentine had been rough on Clary, but it had been especially rough for Alec. Clary had explained parabatai as best she could, so Simon kind of actually had some sort of idea what he was talking about. Kind of. 

 

...

 

"So," Simon had started.

"So?" Alec looked up from inspecting his arrows. They were alone in the warehouse, making sure all the necessary ingredients for the spell were there. And as if being alone with Alec wasn't uncomfortable enough, Simon decided to make it worse.

"So I kinda might probably die later today going through the time portal," he elaborated. Alec's expression stayed blank and after a few seconds of painful silence, Simon just continued.

"So, you know, if I do, I just wanted to say - I don't know? Best of luck, I guess? I hope you and Magnus are happy. You guys deserve it."

Alec looked distinctly uncomfortable and Simon was beginning to feel the same way. "Yeah, uh - right. Thanks," was all Alec managed.

"Yeah," Simon said. "Let's never do this again, okay?" 

Give him a demon any day, and he'd take it over having to repeat this experience.

 

...

 

"Cecil Hazelwood wasn't a very powerful Warlock, which is probably obvious from how he was killed by a simple bullet in France, but from what little I remember of him he was a slippery little fellow. Fancied himself cunning." Magnus walked over to join them, the potion, now a dull yellow, in a cup in his hand.

"Salud!" he declared and knocked the potion back like a shot of tequila. Simon was pretty impressed. Nothing that shade of yellow could taste good.

"And there's also the possibility that opening to portal in 1942 will attract some demons, so you might have to deal with them when you arrive," Magnus said, scrunching his face up in disgust, but whether at the potion or the idea of demons Simon wasn't sure. "You have those blood bags I gave you?"

"Yes! Yes, thank you! Again!" Simon wasn't even being sarcastic, though with his excessive enthusiasm it might seem like it. Magnus had charmed a few blood bags to be bigger on the inside, meaning they would hold a lot more blood than usual. Enough to last him nearly four weeks, even though the plan was to be in and out as quick as possible. Simon had no problem admitting how brilliant it was.

"Got 'em right here!" he said, tapping the backpack he was going to take with him.

"We have one last thing for you," Isabelle said, standing up and retrieving an envelope from a duffel bag. Huh. When she showed up carrying it he'd assumed it was full of weaponry.

"We were able to scrap together $800, just in case you need it."

"You mean we had $100 in total and then Magnus gave us $700," Alec muttered.

"That's exactly what I said,"  Isabelle shot back at him with a pleasant smile.

"And that wasn't a friendly gift by the way. You better not mess this up, Sampson, because I expect that book as payment," Magnus warned from where he was  finishing drawing symbols on the floor. Simon wondered if that was his way of saying "be careful".

"Once we stop Valentine's Shadowhunter army, you mean," Clary clarified.

"Of course. Didn't I say that? I thought I said that," Magnus said, sharing a grin with Isabelle. Clary rolled her eyes, her anxiety making her impatient.

"I know $800 doesn't seem like much, but it should go a lot further in 1942 than it would here," she reassured him. Well, at least she tried to. The butterflies in Simon's stomach were turning in to hornets. He would be completely alone in a different time period with only $800 and a few enchanted blood bags to his name. But still, he pretended, because that's what he did for Clary.

 

...

 

When the others had arrived at the warehouse, Simon pulled Clary outside.

"Listen, Clary, I have to-"

"If you're going to say goodbye, I don't want to hear it," she told him firmly. "No, don't give me that look. You're going to make it."

"Clary, just in case-"

"Nope. Not happening. You're going to be fine. You are going to come back, or else you will never know what happens in the Walking Dead."

"You make a good point," Simon said, feeling sick. "But y'know, since I'm a vampire now, I'm starting to get a little offended by their portrayal of the undead." Clary smiled and punched him in the arm. And wow, that actually kind of hurt. Like, a lot. At least he knew if he never came back, she would be okay. She would survive.

"I'm lucky to have you as a friend," she said, starting back towards the warehouse. Surprisingly, it didn't sting as much as it usually did to hear something like that. His highly likely impending death was putting things in perspective.

"I love you too," he said to her back, sure that she didn't hear it.

 

 

...

 

 

"I'm about to start, so get ready," Magnus warned. Simon nodded and drifted over to where Magnus had scrawled symbols all over the floor, hoisting his backpack on his shoulders. Clary and the Lightwoods followed him. Magnus began to chant a language full of deep, guttural sounds. He waited for some sort of sign it was working and he wasn't let down. Slowly, but surely, he felt the ground shake, the tremors travelling up his bones. 

Simon stepped in to the circle of runes that were beginning to glow a soft blue. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alec nod at him before he went to support Magnus.

"Be safe, okay?" Clary stepped in to the circle and wrapped her arms around him. He longed to say a proper goodbye, but he learned his lesson earlier. And besides, he had organised some fail safes. Still hugging Clary, he met Isabelle's eyes over her shoulder.

He had written letters. To his mother, to Rebecca, to Clary, telling them everything. If he really did die, it was important they knew the truth. But it was equally important that they didn't read them unless he was well and truly dead. And he trusted Isabelle with that.

Not that Simon didn't trust Clary. He did. He trusted her with his life. But he wasn't sure she'd be able to resist opening her letter. He really didn't need to come back from the 40's only to find she read the letter and have it confirmed she didn't love him back. At least, not in the way he loved her. 

He also knew the story of the day he died. He appreciated how hard it must have been for her, but he couldn't have Clary not tell his mom and sister that he was gone. He wanted them to have closure, or at least, as much as was possible after they would discover their little Simon was a Daylighter vampire who died painfully after trying to travel through time.

He'd heard that Jace was all too willing to give his family the bad news. But Jace was gone with Valentine, and anyway, he probably would have done it with the grace of a bull in a china shop. He could see it now. Jace stomping in to the Lewis family sitting room in his biker boots, declaring "Simon's dead" and back flipping out the window. Or something equally as ridiculous.

Alec was an immediate no. Simon wouldn't do that to his mom and sister.

Magnus had been helpful in showing Simon how to control his blood lust, but Simon felt they just weren't at that stage were he could ask him to inform his family he was dead. He also suspected Magnus had dealt with enough death and grieving families in his long life, and he had no desire to add his to the list.

So that left Isabelle. Well, that made it sound like she was his last choice, which was untrue. In fact, he had gone to her first thing when he wrote the letters. She didn't fight him, didn't tell him not to talk like that, just took the letters and put them away safely. He knew he could count on her to be gentle but truthful. But if circumstances were different, she might not have been his first choice.

If circumstances were different, he might have asked Raphael. Raphael who felt responsible for the whole clan. Raphael who had almost certainly informed his fair share of whatever surviving family members a vampire had that their loved one was never coming home. With Isabelle there was a small risk Clary could convince her to give her the letters. Simon knew Raphael wouldn't care enough to even glance at the letters, but if Simon died, he would do as he asked and deliver them.

But Raphael currently hated him and wanted him dead, so that idea was out.

 

...

 

Simon had wanted to say goodbye to Raphael, but that was made difficult by the fact he couldn't get within a mile of the DuMort unless he wanted to be a Simon shish kebab. Raphael would happily stake him if he saw him. Which led to Simon chickening out.

He knew Raphael wouldn't pick up if he called, because as he had learned from his time as advisor, Raphael was Interim Chapter President and would be busy at this time and also was dramatic enough to let the call ring out and go to voicemail. Just what Simon wanted.

"Hey, it's Simon. Probably a little weird that I'm calling you. But I'm about to do something stupid. Again. But this time it's a much higher level of stupid. And like, a much higher chance of me dying horribly. Turns out time travel can be kinda rough. Who'd have thought? You never even told me time travel was an actual real thing," Simon scratched his neck. What was it he had been planning to say again? Maybe just hanging up now was a good idea.

No. If he could say goodbye to Alec Lightwood, who kind of hated his guts, he could say goodbye to the guy who stopped him from killing his friends the night he was Turned.

"And I know you hate me now. I am sorry about that. But I wanted to say thank you, y'know, for helping me when you didn't have to. Just in case I never get the chance to say it. So, yeah. Thank you. Uh, maybe I'll see you around."

 

...

 

 

Clary stepped out of the circle as the runes began to glow brighter and brighter, almost creating a wall of light between them. The earth shook and Magnus chanted and the rumbling got louder until - 

"Something's not right," he heard Isabelle say. And that's when the windows shattered.

Simon ducked out of habit even though the glass wouldn't hurt him. He stayed in the circle but quickly glanced around to check on everyone. Before he could get the words out, something roared. _Well shit_ , came the thought.

"Demons!" Alec shouted. Simon saw him brushing glass off his jacket, having tried to shield Magnus from the blast. Magnus was still chanting, not even looking up. Isabelle helped Clary up from where she had ducked.

A creature with too many legs launched itself through the shattered windows, skidding to a halt right in front of her and Isabelle. Before Simon could even think of stepping across the wall of light and going to help her, Isabelle pulled throwing stars from the duffel beside her. Each one found it's mark, right in the demon's head.

He knew the duffel was full of weapons. He was also never playing a game of darts with Isabelle, like, ever.

The victory was short lived. Three more of the creatures came through the windows, and another came barreling through the wall, rubble flying everywhere. The Shadowhunters formed a protective triangle around Magnus, igniting their seraph blades, so he could continue the spell, but they were outnumbered. Smaller demons came skittering over the window ledges. Dust fell from the ceiling as the shaking increased.

Simon made to leave in order to help his friends. That was what snapped Magnus out of his trance.

"No!" he shouted. "You have to stay in there! If you try to leave-!"

The second Simon's hand touched the barrier of light, his arms snapped to his side and all his muscles seized up

"Do what he says, Simon!" Clary shouted, jumping forward and slashing at a demon's legs. Not that he could actually do anything now. His hand was completely numb from where he touched the light and the numbness was quickly travelling up his body.

Alec dived in front of Magnus, stabbing a demon with his seraph blade, while on the right Isabelle had resorted to her whip. Watching the fight through the light of the runes made everything blur together, the Shadowhunters moving seamlessly. It didn't help that the fading light made it harder to distinguish between the black leather of the Shadowhunters and the demons' pincers.

Simon had never felt so useless.

He saw the opening before anything even happened. Just the slightest gap between the Shadowhunters circling Magnus, but it was enough. He tried to yell, tried to scream, but he found himself paralyzed in the the circle, his limbs rigid. He felt a wave of cold hit him. This was what was meant to happen, Magnus had said, but Simon needed to move now, needed to warn them -

It was too late. One of the smaller demons leapt through and slashed Magnus's shoulder with it's pincers.

Magnus cried out and Alec immediately went to his side.

"No, I'm - _oscail ib biricht chon_ \- I can't hold it - _shalacht hib naim_ -" Simon could smell the poison quickly working on Magnus's flesh. The glow of the runes around him turned to red. The water vapour in the air started to boil as the air turned hot. He was choking.

"Alec!" Isabelle screamed in warning. Alec turned just in time, killing the demon before it could impale him. But Isabelle was distracted, and a demon took the opportunity to pull her whip, yanking her to the ground.

"Izzy!" Clary screeched. The demon jumped over Isabelle's still form and lunged at her. He felt a piercing pain in his head - No, all over his body - like he was - he was being pulled apart. He wished he could flail and scream but his limbs were still frozen. He wished he could die again so this pain would stop.

He was just aware enough to see the vague orange shape that was Clary's head hit the floor, as the ground beneath him opened up and swallowed him.

 

...

 

Simon ached everywhere, feeling like he had been used as the Incredible Hulk's punching bag. It was all a little fuzzy. Magnus had said that would happen, and that his most recent memories would return soon.

But the plan to find Hazelwood had been drilled in to his head.

At least he'd ended up in the right place. The warehouse looked a little newer, but was familiar. He crawled along the floor until he reached the wall, only passing out once, which Simon thought was pretty impressive considering the state he was in. He used the door frame to pull himself up from the ground before stumbling outside, just in time to see a vintage car amble by. He supposed it wouldn't be considered vintage for another 50 or so years. He couldn't stop the thought of _Toto, I've a feeling_ _we're not in Kansas anymore_.

He saw a newspaper stand and struggled to make his legs move in that direction. He needed to know exactly _when_ he was. Cecil Hazelwood would arrive in New York on the 3rd of January 1942, and depart for France on the 1st of February. And after he died, his spell book disappeared for good.

Which is why Simon nearly passed out all over again when he read the date on the top of the New York Post.

_18th of March, 1956._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you so much everyone who has left comments or kudos! This is my 2nd fic ever so it was really nice to see. I have the next few days off, so I should have another chapter up before Monday.
> 
> Now, some warning. There is some Spanish in this chapter, but my Spanish isn't great so I'll be keeping it to a minimum in this fic. Translations can be found in the notes at the end. Hope you enjoy :)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To sum the situation up - everything sucked.

After the incident at the newspaper stand, where Simon nearly passed out and had to grab the stand to steady himself, only have an angry 50 year old growl at him, “Whaddya think yer doin’ there, boy?”, Simon had retreated back into the warehouse, opening one of his blood bags. He took a few decent gulps, sitting up against the wall. He didn’t even remember leaning back and going to sleep.

He definitely would never forget the nightmare he had though, mostly because it had really happened. His memories of the portal, the demon attack, all of it came flooding back to him, causing him to wake up with a shout. Judging by the sun, he had slept through his entire first day and the whole night too. At least there were no demons on this side of the portal. So seeing as how his life wasn’t in any immediate danger (for now) he decided to take stock of the situation.

1\. His friends were most likely killed by demons. While this was Problem Number 1, Simon didn’t really want to think about it. He tried to signal them, which involved smashing a vial of some sort of potion Magnus had given him on the floor.  But there was nothing. No portal opened, none of his friends appeared. Where were they?

He couldn’t let himself think like that. Anything could have happened and he wasn’t exactly in a clear state of mind. Maybe the portal had made him see something that wasn’t real. Maybe they’d gotten the upper hand after he went through the portal. The alternative was too terrible to think about.

2\. If his friends were injured or killed, it meant that Simon was stuck in the 1950’s with no one to pull him back to 2016. Not as depressing as Problem Number 1, because Simon valued his friends’ lives over his own, but still decidedly Not Good. He had $800, a few blood bags and the clothes on his back. Not to mention he hadn’t fully gotten the hang of all his vampire abilities, so the likelihood of him being able to defend himself against any demons he did come across was pretty slim.

3\. He was in 1956 instead of 1942. When put next to his other problems, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal, but it did mean that any hope of retrieving the spell book they needed was out. Maybe if he had the Warlock book he could figure out how to get back to his own time. Maybe he could go back to the moment just before he left so he could help his friends. But that was a whole lot of maybes, and considering how the book disappeared in ‘42, they weren’t looking very likely.

And that was how he came to the conclusion that everything sucked.

And when you thought about it like that, he didn’t really have anything left to lose. Which was why he decided to break the biggest rule of time travel.

Magnus had been very, _very_ clear - under no circumstances was he to interfere with the timeline. He wasn’t to change any events, he wasn’t to try make more than a passing acquaintance of someone and if he just so happened to see Magnus Bane of the past strolling down the street, he was to turn and walk the other way.

But Magnus Bane of his present hadn’t known what a complete mess Simon would find himself in. _Screw it_ , Simon thought. All he had to do was track Magnus’s scent.

Which was easier said than done, as it turned out. After all, most of his training had been focused on controlling his blood lust and he hadn’t been very cooperative with Raphael when he tried to show Simon how to properly utilize his new senses. Raphael didn’t really laugh, but if he could see Simon now he’d make fun of him for eternity. Y’know, if they weren’t mortal enemies, or whatever it was they were now.

His original plan had been to wander the city and hopefully he would pick up Magnus’ scent. Which had gone about as well as you would expect in a city of millions of people. Simon’s head was still a little tender from travelling 60 years through time, so he was blaming his dumb idea on that.

But it wasn’t long before inspiration hit. Magnus had charmed his blood bags and the scent of his magic was all over them. Even with Simon’s largely untrained senses, he could still track the scent of magic. 

And he knew enough about Magnus Bane not to be surprised when the scent lead him to an apartment on the Upper East Side.

He knocked politely on the door, still unsure of what he was going to say. 

“Hey, I’m from the future and we’re kinda sort of friends there, do you think you could send me back?”

Yeah, great idea.

Maybe he should focus on getting through the door first though. He knocked again. Still no answer. Maybe Magnus was out? Simon didn’t really know him well enough to know what he did in his free time. Maybe he was doing Warlock-y stuff. He raised his fist again, intending to knock one last time for good measure.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in warning a fraction of a second before the door swung open with a huge gust of wind. It echoed in his ears and Simon lifted his hand to protect his face from the freezing wind.

“WHO DARES DISTURB ME?” a booming voice demanded as the wind grew stronger. Simon lowered his hand, only to see Magnus standing there, eyes flashing a vibrant yellow and the air swirling around him.

“RUN MORTAL OR FACE MY WRATH!” he continued. Sparks began to flash around his hands. A thick burgundy cloak was wrapped around him, perfectly still despite the wind.

“Uh, Magnus?” Simon was pretty much at a loss for words. He knew Magnus was a little on the dramatic side, but this was a whole other level.

“Oh. So you’re a Downworlder then. Should have guessed. Mortals are usually long gone by this point,” Magnus said at normal volume, his eyes returning to normal as he stilled the winds. He looked disappointed to see Simon still standing there. “Do I know you then?”

“It’s a long story,” Simon said, not really knowing how else to start. A look of understanding appeared of Magnus’ face.

“Oh. Ohhh. I see.” What exactly Magnus saw, Simon wasn’t sure. He looked amused, so he was pretty confident Magnus wasn’t fully aware of his situation. The whole “my friends are probably dead and I’m probably stuck in the past and can’t help them” situation.

“Well,” Magnus continued. “I’m sure we shared a beautiful night, full of passion and whatnot, but I think you should probably lea -”

“No! Uh, no that’s - uh, that’s not it at all, I - nope. Me and you - No. I have a magic problem and I need your help,” Simon choked out. While he knew, rationally, that Alec wasn’t even born yet and couldn’t hurt him, Simon felt he should be on the lookout for incoming arrows.

“Well, office hours are 11am to 5pm. Come back then,” Magnus said bluntly. He dropped his cloak and stumbled further in to his apartment.

Simon realized what he took for a cloak was actually a duvet.

“You do know it’s 12.30, right?” Simon decided to take his chances, closing the door and following him inside. The smell of alcohol hit him like a wave. Magnus continued on his way, not even bothering to look back at Simon.

“Sorry, did I say 11am? I meant 2pm.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“Please, Magnus. I’m begging you. My friends are in trouble. They might already be dead.” Simon hadn’t traveled 60 years through time to be put off by a hungover Warlock.

Magnus stopped in his tracks. He tilted his head back to look upwards, as if he could see through the ceiling and straight up to heaven to give God a look that said “why me”.

“Fine,” Magnus whirred around, letting out a deep sigh. “What’s the issue?” 

Simon held in a sigh of relief. 

“The day before yesterday, I came here through a portal. You probably felt it, it was pretty powerful.”

“I was… otherwise occupied. But go on.”

“Are you serious? You would have felt it,” Simon felt the worry he’d been carrying since he arrived start to bubble up to the surface. What if this Magnus wasn’t strong enough to help him?

“Excuse you, I was quite literally on another continent,” Magnus snapped and yeah, Simon deserved that. He did barge in to the guy’s house after all. The least he could do was be civilized. It wasn’t Magnus’ fault he was stuck in this shitty situation. At least not Magnus of the past’s fault, though the blame couldn’t really be put on present Magnus - or was it future Magnus, technically? - or -

Yeah, Simon was going to stop before he got himself even more confused. His head was already sore enough.

“Sorry. Just before I went through the portal, demons attacked my friends. I couldn’t stop them and now I need to get back to them to help.”

“And where are they now?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Simon said, trying to think of how to put it delicately. “They’re in 2016. I’m from the future.”

There was a moment of silence.

“That’s it,” Magnus said firmly, striding towards him. “Out! Get out now!” He placed his hands on Simon’s shoulders and pushed him at the door.

“What? But, Magnus, please!” Simon flailed. This was his only hope.

“No. I don’t know who you are, but if you think I’m stupid enough to believe someone would mess around with time portals, you do not know me.”

“But-”

“I will not,” Magnus began, his eyes shifting yellow for emphasis, “Ask again.” Simon was suddenly all too aware of the fact that this was not the Magnus he knew, the one who would roll his eyes at him and get exasperated with his nerdy pop culture references only to gently remind him how not to focus on his blood lust. The room smelt like ozone and Simon could feel the hairs on his arms rise with static.

The predator in Simon knew when it was outmatched. He ran.

 

…

 

It was getting dark now and it made Simon feel a little better. He was a Daylighter but it was a vampire’s nature to feel more comfortable at night, no matter how much he wished he wasn’t. But he’d been wandering through the city all day and if the night made him feel more relaxed, he didn’t have the energy to fight it.

He was making his way back to the warehouse, scuffing his shoes along the pavement, when he heard the sniffling. It definitely was a child sniffling - Simon could say that with the confidence of having been the sniffling child before. Being a 7 year old who would talk about Star Wars for hours on end was like holding up a neon sign to bullies that said “Easy target here! Me! Pick on me!”.

He froze and listened carefully. Following the sound, he turned the next corner. It seemed the kid had heard him coming.

“ _¡Vete!_ ”

Simon stopped then, not wanting to scare the kid. He probably should have thought about that before following him down an alley. _Wow, Simon,_ he thought to himself, _real smart._

“ _¿Eres estúpido?_ _¡Vete!_ ”

“I might not know much Spanish, but I still know what  _estúpido_  means,” Simon said, still keeping his distance. A small head peeked out from behind a dumpster. The boy was young, no more than 8, with dark hair and eyes.

“Oh. I thought you were one of my friends. They all speak Spanish.” The boy’s eyes were red rimmed and his nose was still running. The boy sniffed again.

“Why are you hiding from your friends? Is everything okay?”

“No.” The boy seemed like he was going to start crying again and Simon didn’t want that. He moved forward slowly and crouched down in front of him so they were nearly eye level, fixing a what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face.

“It’s okay. Why don’t you tell me your name?”

“Luis,” the boy mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

“No way!” Simon said excitedly. The boy looked up at him, curious. “My name is Lewis. It’s kinda close, is’t it? What do you think, are we long lost twins?”

Luis let out a watery giggle. Simon held out his hands. Luis grabbed them with his tiny ones and allowed Simon to help him up from his spot beside the dumpster. Call him the Child Whisper from this moment on.

“Well, it’s Simon Lewis actually. Are you feeling a little better?”

“Nice to meet you, Simon,” Luis said. Simon thought it was a little formal, but hey, it was the 50′s. “I wasn’t upset or anything, just mad. I’m not a baby.”

“Of course not.”

“They were all making fun of me ‘cause I’m smaller than all them so I ran away from them but then I got lost and I don’t know how to get home but I didn’t want them to find me because I don’t want their help because they are all stupid!” Luis finished and gulped in the air. Despite what the kid said about not being upset, Simon could see his eyes starting to water again.

He weighed his options and reached a decision. There was no way this wasn’t going to sound creepy. But he wouldn’t leave some 8 year old kid lost in the middle of New York.

“How about this, Luis? You tell me your address and I’ll help you get home, and on the way you can teach me some Spanish?”

 

…

 

Apparently, Stranger Danger did not exist in the 1950′s, or at least, it wasn’t a thing they were teaching children. Luis’ eyes had light up at Simon’s offer and now 20 minutes later Luis squealed,

“This is my house! See!” Luis pointed, bouncing on thee balls of his feet. Simon smiled and nodded, just glad he’d gotten the kid back home safe. Simon knew first hand what kind of terrible creatures were running around New York City after dark, human and other. 

Luis was a good kid. He’d kept his end of the bargain, deliberating for 5 or so minutes on what to teach Simon.

“What do you want to learn? Do you know any Spanish already?”

“Whatever you like,” Simon answered. “I only know the very basics. My dad spoke it, but I never learned.” He said the words lightly, but even after all these years thinking of his dad still made a lump appear in his throat.

“Hmm,” Luis hummed, taking this decision very seriously. “I could tell you all the bold words, but Mamá always gets angry at my brothers when she hears them say them. And they’re really old. Some of them are nearly as old as you. So I’m going to teach you all my favorite foods.”

He’d made Simon repeat _frijoles_ 14 times before he decided his pronunciation was acceptable. Simon was ready to adopt him.

“Where?” Simon said, the smile on his face growing.

“Right there! See! With the big brass door knocker!” 

“Where? I don’t see it!” Simon teased, pretending to look around. They were almost standing right in front of the door now, of course Simon could see it. Luis realized Simon was messing with him and knocked in to him with his shoulder. Simon stumbled, pretending the strength of Luis’ push had knocked him off balance.

“Oh yeah? Maybe you need a pair of eyeglasses,” Luis teased back before he ran up the steps to the door. He stood on the tips of his toes to grab the door knocker, but the door was thrown open before he even got near it. A body flung itself at Luis, wrapping him in a hug.

“Luis!”

Simon’s heart dropped at the familiar voice. _Out of the millions of people in New York, there’s no way,_ he thought.

“Rafi!” Luis exclaimed, his voice muffled from how tightly he hugged the older boy who had opened the door.

“ _¿Dónde has estado? Llevo dos horas buscándote._ ”

Sure enough, it was Raphael Santiago who pulled back from the hug, a concerned look on his face. Simon’s brain went completely blank. This could not be happening. There was no way - Another, much louder voice made him snap out of it.

“José Luis Santiago!”

A woman Simon guessed was Luis and Raphael’s (Simon was still processing it) mom appeared at the door. The worried expression on her face quickly melted away, now replaced by an angrier one. Simon hoped she wouldn’t go too hard on Luis, but he could understand how she felt. She must have been worried out of her mind.

“ _¿Qué pasó? ¿Dónde -_ “ The woman stopped when she caught sight of Simon standing at the bottom of the steps to her door. “ _¿Quién es?”_

He hadn’t been following the conversation fully, but when the two boys turned around to look at him as well, Simon took that as his queue.

“Hello,” he said, holding up his hand in an awkward wave. He still couldn’t look in Raphael’s general direction.

“Mamá, this is Simon! I got lost and he showed me how to get home and I taught him Spanish!” Luis looked happy to distract the attention from himself. Simon kind of wanted to curl in to a ball and die, but he remembered his manners.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Simon Lewis.” He wasn’t sure whether a handshake was appropriate but the decision was made for him. Raphael held out his hand and Simon quickly went up the steps to shake it. 

“Raphael Santiago.”

He couldn’t avoid looking at him now. Had to love those 1950′s manners.

Simon was shocked by how young he looked. Maybe it was because he smiled so easily when he glanced at Luis. Maybe it was the white t-shirt and rolled up jeans he wore. Simon had never seen Raphael look so informal before, used to his suits or expensive designer jackets.

Simon felt a strange hollowness when he saw no recognition in Raphael’s eyes. He knew he wouldn’t, but it was strange. The only other time Raphael had looked at him with eyes so empty was when he kidnapped him. The last time he saw Raphael, the anger and disappointment in his expression had been hard to look at. But it was better than nothing.

Simon realized he’d been looking at him long enough to constitute as staring and he turned his head away. The entire time travel experience was weird, but this took the cake. Raphael Santiago. Vampire, clan leader, mentor - and greaser. There was no point denying it. Raphael had enough grease in his hair to fuel a car. If Simon didn’t know Raphael, he’d be expecting him to start singing “Greased Lightning” at any moment.

Their mother took a step forward then and tilted her head slightly. Simon got the hint and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Guadalupe Santiago. Thank you for helping my son, Simon.”

“It’s what anyone would have done,” he said, able to feel Raphael’s eyes on him, curious. She smiled and patted his cheek. Raphael looked so much like her, from their heart shaped faces to their identical noses.

“Maybe, but you shouldn’t be so modest,” Mrs. Santiago said. She pulled back and put her hands on her hips. “Now, you missed dinner,” she looked pointedly at Luis, “But why don’t you step inside and have some cake? I had some time off this morning and made it fresh.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t intrude - “ Simon mostly just wanted to get out of this situation as soon as possible. The last time he’d seen Raphael he’d tried to have him killed. This was too weird.

“Please Simon! You can meet all my other brothers too!” Luis insisted, grabbing his hand. He looked so excited, like he had completely forgotten about the earlier fight with his friends and the giving out he was probably going to receive from his mother later. His puppy dog eyes were off the charts.

Mrs. Santiago smiled knowingly. “It is the newest Betty Crocker recipe.”

“Well, in that case, I can’t refuse.” Simon thought of how he was going to have to vomit the cake up later, but that it would be worth it for the look of Luis’ face as he pulled him in to his home by the arm.

 

…

 

 

35 minutes later and Simon had met the other Santiago brothers and choked down not one, but two slices of cake. Mrs Santiago had insisted and Simon could hardly tell her he was a immortal vampire who only required blood for sustenance, so he had powered through it.

Raphael hadn’t said much the whole time he was there, which honestly made Simon feel a little more relaxed. Still, he was relieved when Luis’ eyes started to get heavy because that meant it was time for Simon to go. 

“I’ll see you around, right Simon?” Luis asked hopefully as he stumbled up to bed.

“I’m in town for a few weeks, so maybe.” Simon secretly hoped it would be less than that, because he needed to get back to his friends, but Luis seemed happy with the answer, waving one last goodbye before he went upstairs.

Like most of the evening, Raphael was quiet, even as he walked Simon to the door. He seemed deep in thought and he was still completely human. Simon could smell the rich blood pumping through his veins, could hear him breathe through his nose. Simon couldn’t stop the amusement that flared up inside him. Future Raphael would have been pleased that he was using his enhanced senses, though probably not too happy Simon was using them on his past self.

They stopped at the threshold.

“Well, I’ll see you then.” Simon wasn’t entirely sure what the proper farewell was to the guy who would dig your grave in 60 years time, but he figured that was pretty safe. How wrong he was.

“You know, if you didn’t like my mother’s cake, you didn’t have to eat it,” Raphael said with a surprising amount of resentment. Simon was almost disappointed in himself for believing things could go right for once.

“W - what?” Simon said. Raphael charged ahead, opening the front door and glaring at him as if he could force Simon out with the power of his mind.

“Please. You might have thought you were subtle, but I saw your face when no one else was looking.” Raphael looked even more annoyed at having to explain it to Simon. Simon couldn’t believe he was here right now, in the 1950′s, having Raphael Santiago mad at him for not appreciating his mother's cooking.

“I - Well,” Simon began, his mind racing. Telling Raphael he consumed blood exclusively probably wasn’t the best way to get out of this. That’s when it hit him.

“I’m sorry, it was a really nice cake. It’s just that I’m lactose intolerant.”

Simon Lewis, king of cover stories.

Raphael hesitated, his eyebrows drawing together, before - “What?”

Was lactose intolerance not a thing in the 50′s? _Please let it be a thing,_ Simon thought.

“Lactose intolerant, it means -”

“I know what it means.” Raphael’s expression became annoyed once again. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why would you do something as stupid as eat something you’re allergic to?”  

He had been wary before, but now Raphael was starting to get on his nerves. Why wouldn’t he believe him? He supposed, _technically_ , that he was lying, but there was no reason for Raphael to think that.

“Maybe because I didn’t want to be rude and refuse your mother’s cake?”

Raphael eyed him for a long moment. The he let out a breath and unfolded his arms.

“Oh,” was all he said. Simon scoffed. He walked out the door and down the first few steps.

“I’m sorry,” Raphael said from the door. Simon stopped in his tracks. He couldn't believe it.

“And... Thank you. For bringing Luis back. We were really worried,” Raphael said, an odd expression on his face. Was it gratitude? It hit Simon again just how human he looked, how alive. Something inside Simon thawed.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a smile as he held up his hand to wave.

Raphael gave him a tight nod and a small, apologetic smile of his own before he shut the door. Simon pinched himself. Nope, he was awake, all that had actually happened. Time travel was messed up, he decided.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¡Vete! = Go away!  
> ¿Eres estúpido? ¡Vete! = Are you stupid? Go away!  
> ¿Dónde has estado? Llevo dos horas buscando para ti. = Where have you been? I've been looking for you for two hours.  
> ¿Qué pasó? ¿Dónde - = What happened? Where -  
> ¿Quién es? = Who is this?
> 
> Also important - Raphael's a lot younger than we're used to, so he's a little quicker to anger (especially if it's in defence of his mother's cooking lol) and etc but he's still proud and sarcastic and loves his family.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to note - I know in the books Raphael is turned in to a vampire in 1953 and he's also fifteen but this is based in the tv show universe and there's no way David Castro is pulling off being fifteen years old anytime soon, so that's why I upped the years a little so that Raphael is still human in 1956. Just in case you were wondering. Hope you enjoy :)

Some people called Simon Lewis stubborn, but he preferred to think of himself as determined. He had gotten though a whole year of accounting. He had been in love with his best friend for years and hadn’t given up hope (even though in the back of his mind he knew it was hopeless). He had even pulled himself out of his own grave.

The point was, Elaine Lewis didn’t raise a quitter.

So after he’d gotten back to the gloomy warehouse he was calling home, he’d fed and slept a little, then woke up bright and early the next day to visit Magnus again. Maybe he’d be a little less hungover this time and a little more likely to listen to Simon instead of trying to fry him.

The problem was Magnus had left. The entire apartment had been stripped and abandoned. Simon’s talk of time travel must have worried him more than he let on. It made Simon wonder why future Magnus had even agreed to it in the first place.

But as he liked to say, with a can-do attitude and the ability to walk in sunlight, there was nothing a vampire couldn’t do.

Okay, maybe he’d never said that before, but he was going to start.

Maybe he couldn’t find Magnus, but Simon had spent a lot of time memorizing facts about Cecil Hazelwood and his family, and he was determined to put that knowledge to good use. Future Magnus had been eager to get his hands on Hazelwood’s book, so maybe if he found it he could use that to draw past Magnus out and convince him to help him.

When they were researching the family, they could find no evidence that Steven Hazelwood had inherited any of his father’s magic, but considering how many things had already gone wrong, Simon wasn’t willing to rely on it. That’s why he waited outside Steven Hazelwood’s childhood home and followed him throughout the day from a suitably safe distance.

He looked normal enough, but so did Simon and he was an immortal bloodsucking creature of the night, so he knew better than to judge by appearances. He was born in 1929, so that would make him 27 now. Simon followed him all day and the day after that. He was probably his best bet for finding the book, but after the third day of following him Simon was feeling a little hopeless. He had even searched his house when he knew Steven would be in work, but there was no book, nothing to suggest Hazelwood even knew about the Downworld.

When Hazelwood went to work in some new looking office block, Simon usually loitered around outside and watched the doors. He couldn’t hear anything this far away and had been basically useless for getting information, but it had lead to a fair amount of odd stares and a few confrontations with elderly people thinking he was some “hoodlum up to no good”.

Simon was a little offended, but mostly he just wished he could have recorded it to show to Clary. She’d think it was hilarious. He really hoped she was alive. He stopped that train of thought. It would do him no good to dwell on it while he was stuck here.

So he learned to blend in. He bought a denim jacket, along with a few shirts and t-shirts and rolled up his jeans at the ankles. He felt like an extra from Grease The Musical, but at least he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb anymore.

And maybe everything about his situation sucked, but Simon kind of loved playing spy. Especially now he had the enhanced senses and strength to go with it. Tom Cruise wished he was this cool.

But closer observation was called for.

Even with this new stage of his plan, he still couldn’t follow the guy in to work, but he got close. Like, scary close. Like creeping-around-outside-his-window-at-night-to-hear-his-phone-calls close. He waited outside the office, and when Hazelwood emerged at the end of the day Simon followed him to the diner three blocks down that he went to daily for dinner. Except this time, Simon followed him in.

It was fairly busy, but Simon managed to snag a booth two down from Hazelwood and could hear every breath he took. If he was taking any secret calls he didn’t want anyone else hearing, the loud diner would be perfect. That is, along as no one with enhanced hearing like Simon was around. He resisted the temptation to hum the Mission Impossible theme tune.

The server eventually came to take his order, but it’s not like Simon actually wanted food, so he wasn’t that bothered by the wait.

“What’ll you have? We got a Wonderful Wednesday special on the the chicken strips and fries, and you get a milkshake free,” the waitress said in a monotone. Simon had been straining his hearing to listen in on Hazelwood, so the pop of her bubblegum sounded like an explosion in his ear and made him jump.

“Uh, yeah, that. I’ll have that,” Simon said, trying to discretely rub his ears. He glanced at Hazelwood again. Usually when he came he he stayed for at least an hour while he ate. Simon would definitely get kicked out if he tried to stay that long without ordering food.

“Strawberry okay?”

He looked back at the waitress. “What?”

“For the milkshake?” The girl seemed a little younger than him and impatient. She was wearing a retro waitress outfit that he supposed wasn’t all that retro in this decade. The entire diner was decorated nearly identically to the cheesy 1950′s knockoff diners they had in his time, with the red sofa booths and the jukebox in the corner.

“Uh, yeah, that’s fine. Thank you,” he quickly turned his attention back to Hazelwood as she sauntered off. He was only a little disappointed she didn’t have roller-skates on.

Hazelwood wasn’t doing anything all that interesting, just munching away on an insanely large burger. When Simon’s own food arrived, he was a lot less enthusiastic. He moved the fries around a little, cut up some of the chicken to look like he had eaten. He also shoved a good few fries in to his napkin.

He looked longingly at the milkshake but didn’t touch it. Puking up Mrs Santiago’s cake had not been a pleasant experience and he didn’t want to have to repeat it any time soon. He flitted in between focusing on Steven Hazelwood and daydreaming, wondering how he could get back to his friends.

“You. Again.”

Simon had been keeping an eye on dear old Steven when the voice snapped him out of his reverie. He looked up to see Raphael Santiago standing in front of his booth.

“What are you doing?”

“I, uh - Raphael! Hi!” Simon rubbed his hands on his pants, greasy from handling the fries. “I - Well - I’m not following _you_ if that’s what you mean.”

“No, I meant what are you doing ordering a milkshake, something that has, y’know, milk in it, when you’re lactose intolerant?” Raphael slid in to the booth, putting his leather jacket beside him and sitting in front of Simon. He pulled the milkshake over to his side of the table. “Strawberry too. What a waste.”

“What? Milkshakes have milk in them? Tell me more,” Simon muttered.

“But seeing as how you brought it up,” Raphael continued, giving no indication he heard Simon except for a small smirk, “Who exactly _are_ you following?”

“Well - It’s a long story,” Simon said, desperately trying to think of a story.

Raphael, seeing the milkshake hadn’t been drank from, put the straw in his mouth and slurped. Simon couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. Raphael as a vampire had made him, well - uneasy was probably the best word for it - and as a human he was no different.

“I just finished my shift in the back,” Raphael said, nodding his head towards the kitchen, “So I’ve got time.” He took another long slurp of the milkshake.

“You work here?” Simon wasn’t even surprised at this point. Fate hated him. At this rate he was probably going to run in to his own grandmother next. Raphael pointedly ignored the question and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, okay,” Simon sighed, holding his hands up in defeat. It didn’t look like Steven was going anywhere any time soon, or that Raphael was going to let up. He decided the best course of action was to be as truthful as he could without straight up telling Raphael he was a vampire from the future.

“I’m in New York looking for this book. I used to live here as a kid - that’s how I knew how to get Luis home - but we, uh, moved away. And, this book - It’s, uh, it’s a family heirloom. Yeah. A family heirloom.” Simon couldn’t help but think he was getting pretty good at this cover story business. Then his mouth just ran ahead without him realizing.

“It belonged to my dad, but, uh, he passed away and I’m here to get it.” He suddenly wished he could put the words back in his mouth, take back any mention of his father.

But when he met Raphael’s eyes, they were gentle in a way he’d never seen before.

“Was it the War?” he asked softly.

“No,” Simon said, realizing Raphael was thinking of World War II. This was one thing he couldn’t lie about. “No, it, uh - It was a heart attack. I was six.” He couldn’t believe he’d talked about his dad to not one, but two Santiago’s in the space of a week. “I, uh -” Simon had to clear his throat. He could feel his fangs sliding out, like they did whenever he got upset or excited. He unclenched his fists and breathed slowly and evenly.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place to ask,” Raphael said and a small crease appeared between his brows. He’d looked the same way the other night at his house. Simon was beginning to realize that particular quirk meant Raphael honestly was sorry. Simon took a moment to breathe and when he was sure his fangs were hidden again, he replied.

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago.” It still hurt to think about but he wasn’t going to put that on Raphael. 

Raphael searched Simon’s face for a minute before nodding, accepting Simon’s forgiveness as real and not just a brush off.

“But the book is important to my family. I really need to get it back,” Simon finished, glad the moment was over.

“And the person you’re following?”

“Someone I trust told me this guy had the book, but he died in the War. So I’m following the guy’s son even though I have no idea if the son has it or not. So far I’ve got nothing,” Simon said, reaching up to run a hand through his hair before remembering he’d combed it with some kind of wax to blend in with the teenagers around him. He scratched the back of his neck instead. This book was probably his only shot at getting Magnus to help him, and it would be a double victory because they could use the book against Valentine’s Shadowhunters.

“So who’s the guy?” Raphael had been resting his elbows on the table while he drank Simon’s milkshake, but now he leaned back in the booth.

“The one in the grey suit, two booths behind you but don’t look - no -” It was too late. Raphael had already swung around to have a look.

“Raphael!” Simon hissed, ducking his head so that Hazelwood wouldn’t see him if he looked over.

“Relax,” Raphael scoffed, turning back around. “You’d need another A-bomb to get that guy to look up from his burger. I’d know. He comes in here every weekday.”

“I know he does,” Simon said, wanting to show Raphael he knew more than he let on and maybe intimidate him a little. It had the opposite effect. Raphael tilted his head and Simon could see the beginnings of a smirk.

“You’ve been following him that long?” When Simon nodded, the smirk had turned in to a full on grin.

“And my mother thought you were such a good, wholesome boy.” Raphael was snickering at him. Snickering! Snickering and Raphael were two words Simon never thought would be in a sentence together, but here he was.

“Stop drawing attention to me! I’m trying to be discrete!” He kicked Raphael under the table. Raphael found this even funnier and he let out a proper laugh.

That stopped Simon’s thoughts in their tracks. Sure, Raphael had smiled in front of him before, even chuckled, but it was all done with a thin layer of condescension, like Raphael was purposely othering himself. After what Simon had done, releasing Camille, he was positive he’d never get to see that smug grin again unless it was his death that brought it about.

But this laugh was something else entirely. It only lasted a second but it was lighter and freer than anything Simon would expect possible from the other man. Simon suspected it was because Raphael was still alive and didn’t know the pain of Turning yet. And yes, maybe Raphael was laughing at him, but Simon felt a twinge of pride for being the cause of such a laugh, especially from someone who held themself back so much.

“Come on,” Raphael said, settling down. “It is kinda funny.”

Simon glared. He couldn’t believe how the tables had been turned on him. Raphael Santiago was trying to convince him to loosen up. Simon suspected it was more like Raphael enjoyed annoying Simon but either way, it was weird. Fate really did hate him.

“Whatever,” Raphael drained the last of the milkshake. He grabbed his jacket and stood up.“He doesn’t always come here alone, you know.”

“What?” Raphael had Simon’s full attention, the sound of Hazelwood’s munching faded in to the background noise of the diner. Simon felt like he was back at one of his vampire training sessions, with Raphael springing surprise lessons on him when he least expected it.

“Every few weeks he’ll come in here with a guy. Henri Bernard.” Raphael slung his leather jacket on. “Weird guy. European. He’s not in the mob, but he’s in something alright. Be careful.”

“I - “ Simon caught Raphael’s wrist to stop him from leaving. “Why are you helping me?” Raphael shook his hand off and glanced down, fixing the collar of his leather jacket when he saw it was twisted. Simon thought he looked a little embarrassed.

“You said the book was a family heirloom, right? Family’s important.”

“Thank you. It was starting to feel a little hopeless. At least now I have something I can work with.” Simon really meant it. He was pretty sure his sincerity was making Raphael uncomfortable.

“Yeah, well, good luck and all.” Raphael stood at the top of the booth and was about to leave but stopped like he had forgotten something. He put his hands on the table and leaned over to Simon. Simon noticed how strange it seemed to look up at Raphael.

“And if you get caught doing anything stupid, I’ve never seen you before in my life,” Raphael said, his voice lower than before. He turned to leave then. Simon grinned, having expected something a lot more sinister. He’d like to see someone try to catch him when he was using his vampire speed.

“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” he called to Raphael’s back as the man walked to the exit. He half turned to look back at Simon over his shoulder, making a face.

“Don’t call me buddy.” He kept walking. _It was worth a shot_ , Simon thought.

 

...

 

Henri Bernard was a hard guy to find information about, but ultimately wasn’t a hard guy to find. He was who knows how old and he lived who knows where but he did who knows what in the exact same office block as Steven Hazelwood, which was enough to make Simon excited. Raphael hadn’t been bluffing. There was definitely a connection between the two men.

And Henri Bernard was almost certainly a Downworlder. The smell of magic was all over him, so Simon would guess Warlock, but it smelled a little off, like stale blood.

Definitely not a good sign.

So, on his 6th day of 1956, Simon followed Henri Bernard. It made a nice change from Hazelwood, who quite frankly had appalling personal hygiene. Simon realized how creepy it was to weigh the pros of stalking one person over the other but he was pretty sure people in the Shadow World had a looser definition of the word “creepy”, so he didn’t dwell on it.

It seemed Simon had normalized the Shadow World version of what was creepy, because as he followed the man he didn’t once stop to question what Bernard was doing on a Thursday night in an empty warehouse at the docks, though it should have been Bad Sign Number 2. Instead, Simon just stood outside the door of the warehouse to listen, showing a remarkable lack of a sense of self-preservation. And he wondered how he got himself in to these life or death situations.

Simon could hear muttering, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t English or any other modern language. That was strike three and now Simon was convinced things were about to go horribly, horribly wrong. And for once, he was right.

 _“Mon Dieu!”_ Simon heard that very clearly. It was Bernard. “I can’t believe it! It’s - It’s working! It’s actually working!” Whatever it was, Simon was pretty sure he’d like it to stop working right now immediately. He pressed his ear against the door, straining to hear more.

“Oh no.”

It seemed things had taken a turn for the worse for Bernard. Simon heard his fast steps approaching the door and he only got out of the way just in time to see Bernard throw the door open and keep on running away from the warehouse, clutching his suit jacket and briefcase. Simon watched him go and pretended he hadn't felt a weird temptation to dramatically jump and tumble roll out of Bernard's way. This pretend spy stuff was really getting to him.

Simon was worried of course, but inside the warehouse was silent. He knew he was playing in to every horror movie trope ever, but he went in to investigate. Maybe Bernard had the book and tried to cast a spell of some kind, but it didn’t completely work? If it brought him a step closer to finding the book, he was willing to commit to this ridiculous supernatural horror drama that was his life.

He crept inside the warehouse, staying light on his feet and ready to run. The smell of rotten eggs was nearly overpowering. And he thought Hazelwood had been bad. This smell assaulted his senses, making him want to gag. But it seemed familiar at the same time. It wasn’t too long before he realized why. This realization came in the form of a large, dark shape dropping down from the ceiling right on top of him.

That was how, on his 6th day of 1956, Simon found himself fighting a demon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left comments and kudos! You'll notice I added "slow burn" to the tags ;) Yep, it's starting people.

Simon hit the floor, the demon heavy on his back, its legs digging into his spine. He rolled immediately, desperately trying to dislodge it. Surprisingly, it worked.The demon went flying, hitting the closest wall with a loud smack. Simon nearly winced at the sound. That had to hurt, even if you were a demon. Still, Simon felt a little pride. He really loved vampire strength.

It let out a whine and came at Simon again, who dodged it easily. That was weird. Simon knew his vampire speed helped, but demons were meant to be just as fast. Instinct made Simon hiss and bare his fangs.

It swung around to face him again and launched itself at him once more, trying to grab at him. He twisted out of its reach. It swiped at his legs. He jumped just in time. Maybe if he was Jace, he’d turn the jump into a somersault, or something equally as impressive, but Simon was just focused on staying alive. The demon wasn’t as fast as he expected, but that didn’t mean it was slow

It jumped, teeth bared, aiming for Simon’s throat. He batted it away with an powerful backhand. Wow. Maybe he should give professional tennis a try when he got back to 2016.

In that moment Simon was really grateful that his vampire night vision hadn’t disappeared when he became a Daylighter. He snapped out of whatever instinct had taken over him and looked closer at the demon that was struggling to pick itself up.

It should have had four legs. Simon was no demon expert, but he could tell that much from looking at the demon’s two strong hind legs, the slightly weaker front left one and the stump where the front right should have been. There was a huge chunk missing from what he guessed was the rib cage area, and Simon knew he hadn’t gotten close enough to do that kind of damage.

It all clicked. Bernard had been trying to summon it, but the spell must have went wrong somehow. The demon was not what it should have been. He really was getting good at this stuff, a regular Nancy Drew. If Nancy Drew was a boy. Or a vampire.

Simon approached it carefully, eyeing its injuries. The thing was almost wheezing but it made sure to growl at Simon as he got closer.

Simon hissed back at it. It was no threat to him, but he couldn’t shake off the animal need to show it that it was beaten. It shuffled its limbs, preparing to attack again and Simon sunk into a crouch. With one last ounce of strength it tossed itself at him, jaws snapping. His hands moved before he even thought about it, snapping the demons neck.

He stared at the it’s body as it disintegrated. He felt like time had stopped.

Suddenly he was on his hands and knees, retching. Blood and bile burned his throat as they made way back up his digestive system. He managed to stumble outside before vomiting. Then he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, not looking back once.

 

...

 

 _It was a demon,_ he reminded himself as he curled in to a ball back at the warehouse he was calling home. The Shadowhunters killed demons all the time, or else the demons would be out there killing innocents. He knew it wouldn’t hesitate to kill any human it came across and they wouldn’t have Simon’s speed or strength to fight it off. But Simon couldn’t shake the guilt. He had killed it, not any of the Shadowhunters. He had been the one to snap it’s neck.

Needless to say, he didn’t sleep very well that night. He drank from one of his blood bags, draining it completely to replenish what he had vomited up. It was the first of his blood bags to be emptied. Magnus’ spell had worked like a charm, that blood bag having lasted a week, and despite having three more of those blood bags, Simon couldn’t stop the worry that creeped in to his stomach.

He tried to dismiss it, but all he could think about was how it had been a week, a whole week since he’d seen his friends. Were they okay? Would he ever get back to them? It was all he could think about all night.

He knew he should go back to the warehouse to try catch Bernard’s scent, but the thought of it made his stomach lurch. Instead he found himself walking in to the diner and ordering the same thing he had yesterday.

Comforting and Raphael were not words that Simon would connect by any stretch of the imagination. But just having someone to talk to and take his mind off last night would be comforting. And seeing how Raphael was literally the only person he knew in 1956 (not including Magnus, who was more likely to turn Simon into a toad than want to talk to him) he would take what he could get.

He distracted himself by cutting up chicken strips and moving them around his plate, trusting that Raphael would see him and come to talk to him when his shift finished. At least, Simon really hoped he would. He didn’t realize how badly he needed to talk to someone until he had sat down in the red booth.

“Back again, huh?”

“Raphael!” Relief flooded through Simon. He realized he should probably tone it down but he couldn’t stop the smile on his face. “I thought I’d come back and let you know I wasn’t caught, so, like, no need to worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Raphael scoffed, “I just didn’t want you dragging me in to your mess.” He sounded dismissive but he still slid on to the sofa opposite Simon. He opened his mouth to continue, maybe to ask if Simon had found anything, when he stopped and raised an eyebrow to level Simon a judgmental stare.

“Again with the milkshake?”

“Now hang on a minute - “ Simon pretended he was annoyed but he had to fight the urge to laugh. He was grateful. He’d been worried it would be weird but they fell in to the same flippant bickering they’d shared in his time. It was just what Simon needed to put the events at the docks out of his mind.

“Whatever,” Raphael shrugged and snatched the milkshake.

“I paid for that, you know,” Simon pointed out.

“Well, that was stupid, considering you can’t drink it.” Raphael was slurping loudly and deliberately, looking up at Simon as he did and raising his eyebrows in challenge.

“It’s a meal deal!” Simon tried to reason. Raphael just kept on slurping, unimpressed. Simon fixed him with a glare as he waited for him to stop.

“So?” Raphael said, finally breaking away from his milkshake.

“So what?”

“The book, _idiota_ ,” Raphael kicked Simon’s shin under the table, then made a face. Simon’s leg wouldn’t bruise (perks of being a vampire) but Raphael’s foot definitely would. Simon would have smiled smugly if the topic of discussion had been different.

“I - I didn’t get it. I don’t want to talk about it,” Simon said, glancing down at his food so he wouldn’t have to meet Raphael’s eyes. When the silence continued he looked up. He could read the question on Raphael’s face, but Simon was pretty sure he’d rather die a second time than elaborate.

“You’re kinda the only person I know in New York,” Simon admitted. He didn’t say anything else, not that he felt guilty about killing a demon and his back hurt from last night and he missed his friends, but he wished he could. Raphael eyed him for a minute. Simon was getting better at understanding his expressions but this one was indecipherable.

 _He must be feeling awkward,_ Simon thought. _From his point of view he’s only known me a few days._

“That’s not true,” Raphael said finally. “You know Luis. He was asking about you, you know.”

It was only a small thing, but it was something.

“Oh yeah?” A small smile spread across Simon’s face at the thought. “How is he?”

Raphael smiled back, glad to have distracted Simon. “Good. He told all his friends about you. I think he was hoping to introduce them to you at Mass on Sunday, but we didn’t see you there.”

“That’s not surprising, considering I’m Jewish.”

“Yeah? So is Manuel. He works in the kitchen with me. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind showing you were the nearest synagogue is.”

Simon couldn’t help but smile at Raphael’s not so subtle attempts to make him feel less lonely.

“Thanks, but I uh, I found one on Brooklyn,” Simon lied, ignoring the feeling that came whenever he thought about how he couldn’t enter any holy place since becoming a vampire.

“Brooklyn? What are you doing walking to Brooklyn?” Raphael said, looking, well, appalled.

“I don’t mind the walk,” Simon said, leaving out the part where an hour and a half walk for someone else would only take him five minutes. “Everyone needs a hobby. What do you do?”

Raphael seemed a little thrown off by having the conversation directed on him. “I work here.”

“Okay. And?” Simon didn’t know what he was expecting, but he was expecting a little more than that. It would be nice to learn about Raphael. For all his time spent as Advisor to the Interim Chapter President, he only learned a few things about what Raphael liked, including, but not limited to: spending time with the clan, telling Simon to work harder in training, protecting the clan, training/torturing Simon, leading the clan, looking at Simon like he was an idiot and so on.

“I don’t know. I hang around with the guys from the diner, I look after my brothers,” Raphael shrugged, looking down and stirring the straw in Simon’s stolen milkshake. He sounded uncertain and it surprised Simon. The Raphael Simon knew always seemed so sure and steadfast. Simon hadn’t even really thought he was capable of uncertainty.

“I suppose I like reading,” Raphael said quietly. If Simon didn’t know him as the future head of the New York vampire clan, he’d say he sounded almost embarrassed or shy. “I’ve been wanted to read that Bradbury book everyone was talking about, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“You read?” Simon knew that objectively, he supposed. He had seen Raphael’s study in the DuMort, full of books from every time period. But it was a little hard to reconcile that Raphael, who collected centuries old books, and this Raphael, the eighteen year old in a leather jacket talking about Ray Bradbury’s sci-fi classic Fahrenheit 451. Though he guessed it wasn’t really a classic yet.

“What are you trying to say?” Raphael got defensive immediately, which Simon really should have seen coming. “I don’t look like I read or something?”

“No! No, I just meant, how do you find the time. And, like, you said you haven’t really gotten around to it, which I heard you say, so I guess you don’t find the time. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Right,” Raphael said, his face still tight. Simon wished he could take his words back. He had only just seen his more playful and open side and now he was shutting down in a way that reminded him of future Raphael. Simon was starting to think about the things that must have happened to Raphael over the years to change him from this carefree, albeit snarky, boy to the cynical vampire. He supposed the snark was the same though.

But now that Simon had seen him really laugh, light and carefree, he just wanted to make it happen again. He thought about what it would be like to win a laugh like that from future Raphael, who rarely even smiles, never mind actual laughing. Though after how he betrayed him, he’d be lucky if future Raphael doesn’t try to kill him the next time he sees him. And it was up to Simon to make sure he did see him again, along with Clary and Jocelyn. Isabelle and Magnus and Alec. Rebecca and his mom.

“I really didn’t mean it like that,” Simon tried to assure him, feeling a surge of motivation at the thought of his friends and family. He hoped he would be able to count Raphael among those friends.

Raphael made a noncommittal noise, glancing up from his milkshake to shoot Simon a not so friendly look.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Simon said. “You don’t believe me. But I’m a doer. So you know what I’m gonna do?” Simon paused for emphasis. Raphael watched him with a raised eyebrow. 

“First things first, I’m going to make it up to you. Then I’m going to find my family’s book and I’m going to go home.” He got up from the booth and pulled on his jacket. 

“Don’t do anything too stupid. Luis might be upset if you get yourself hurt before he can introduce you to his friends,” Raphael said grudgingly, but Simon could see the look in his eyes. It was a look that said “what ridiculous thing is Simon getting himself in to now”. 

Simon knew it well. It was the look future Raphael had nearly all the time.

 

…

 

The smell of Shadowhunters hit him as soon as he arrived at the docks. Angel blood had a very specific smell, almost sickly sweet. Simon realized how creepy it was to try to describe how blood smelt, so he focused on checking the perimeter. The scent was fresh, so he’d say they’d left only a few hours ago.

He wasn’t entirely sure how they’d know there was a demon here the night before. Maybe they had a Warlock helping them. He knew Magnus wasn’t High Warlock yet, but that didn’t mean the Shadowhunters didn’t have another Warlock who owed them a favor.

He blamed his preoccupation with making sure the Shadowhunters had all left for not recognizing the other familiar, much fresher scent.

The second he stepped in to the warehouse where he’d fought the demon, something lifted him and slammed him in to a wall. That had really hurt. This whole concussion thing was getting old, Simon decided. 

When the room stopped spinning, Simon focused on Magnus Bane standing in front of him, eyes yellow and hands raised, ready to magic him back at the wall.

“Hi,” Simon said weakly, “Lovely day out, isn’t it?”

“What are you doing here?” Magnus demanded. Simon had to admit, the 1950′s suited Magnus. He wore a dapper grey suit, a deep blue tie with a matching color trench coat and - two hats? No, scratch that, that was the concussion talking, Magnus only had one hat.

“Same thing as you, I suppose,” Simon said, trying to blink the fog out of his eyes. “Looking for the Warlock who summoned that demon last night.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No one summoned it. I know every Warlock in the state of New York and not one of them is _stupid_ enough to use time portal energy to summon a demon.” Magnus flexed his hands and narrowed his eyes at Simon, who fought to stop a shiver running up his spine. Magnus Bane was the only person he’d ever met who could wear glitter eyeliner and look intimidating at the same time.

“In fact,” he continued, approaching Simon menacingly, “the only person I’ve heard even _mention_ time portals in the last few years is you.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on!” Simon raised his hands, palms forward, to show he didn’t mean any harm. He winced. Lifting his hands up so fast had brought on another wave of dizziness. “I didn’t summon it! I killed it!”

Magnus stopped his approach and tilted his head to the side. He raised his perfectly shaped eyebrows. “You?”

“What’s that meant to mean?” It wasn’t something Simon was proud of, but he was a little offended Magnus didn’t think him capable. “And what does the time portal have to do with anything?”

Magnus smiled condescendingly. “Shouldn’t you know? You’re the one whose been going around New York, barging in to innocent Warlock’s apartments and talking about time portals.”

“Okay, first off, that’s totally not what happened,” Simon began. He held up his finger to stop Magnus when he tried to reply. “And second of all, just because I went through a time portal doesn’t mean I know anything about them past the fact they let you, y’know, _travel in time_.”

“What, so I’m just meant to give away trade secrets about time portals to some random Downworlder?” Magnus rolled his eyes, his tone of voice suggesting it would be more likely for the sky to fall. “What kind are you anyway?” he asked, narrowing in on Simon.

Simon tried not to let his panic show. No one could know he was a Daylighter. That had caused enough trouble in 2016, he didn’t need to guess how the Downworlders of 1956 would act. So he did what he did best and dodged the question.

“Listen, you want to know what’s going on with last night’s demon as much as I do! It makes sense for us to work together. We could be like a Downworlder version of Watson and Holmes!” Simon pleaded. He could really use Magnus’ knowledge in figuring out what was up with Bernard, who Simon was almost certain had the book. Afterwards, he could offer the book to Magnus in exchange for getting him home.

“No.”

“Come on! I even made an effort to use an old pop culture reference so you’d understand!”

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten,” Magnus scoffed. He was very talented at making people feel stupid. “You’re - “ He made little air quotes with his fingers “ - from the future.” 

“I’ll let you be Holmes!” Simon tried one last time. Magnus pierced him with a look.

“Of course I would have been Holmes. But that’s beside the point,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m going to find out what’s going on around here, and I better not run into you again, or I’ll start to get suspicious.”

Simon rubbed his head where it had hit the brick wall. If that was Magnus when he wasn’t suspicious, he’d hate to see what he’d do when he was. Giving him one last look of warning, Magnus turned, his blue trench coat swirling around him, and left.

 

…

 

That night Simon had tried his best to find Bernard’s scent, but between the smell of Shadowhunters and Magnus’ magic, he was too inexperienced to single it out. He hung around the office block the next morning, but Bernard was a no show.

It figured that just when Magnus had showed up again and Simon thought he had a chance, all his leads went dead. Just his luck. He needed to get his hands on a rabbit’s foot or something. Actually, that sounded a little gross. Maybe a horseshoe or a lucky cat. 

Still, Simon had a very important errand to run before he went to the diner later. He kept an eye out for any four-leaf clovers along the way. 

His errand had taken him a little longer than he’d thought, so when he finally did get to the diner, it was later than usual. He hoped Raphael hadn’t left yet. When he ordered the milkshake, the waitress frowned in confusion.

“You must really like these milkshakes,” she said, chewing away at her bubblegum. Her name tag read _Antonella_.

“Yeah, uh, they’re pretty nice. Hey, so, not to sound weird or anything, but is Raphael still around?” Simon was sure it sounded weird anyway, but he’d been to four different shops looking for this gift and he was determined to give it to Raphael.

She shot him a quizzical look. “Raphael, like Raphael Santiago? Why?”

“Would you believe me if I said we’re kinda sort of friends?”

She looked him up and down so thoroughly it was clear her answer was no. Simon didn’t blame her. He probably looked like the last person Raphael would befriend. But she still said, “I’ll let him know you’re here,” and Simon was grateful.

He was about to say thanks but she was already long gone. He couldn’t stop himself from fidgeting as he waited. The longer he sat there, the more he started to think this was a terrible, terrible idea. He got Raphael a present, how stupid was that? It was nearly 25 minutes since he’d sat down and he decided it was probably best if he left, which definitely would not count as chickening out, seeing as how Raphael was clearly busy.

Just as he was about leave, Raphael came out of the door that lead to the kitchen. He caught Simon’s eye immediately, but hesitated, like he was considering not coming over. Simon pushed the milkshake in his direction, making a show of it. Raphael rolled his eyes.

“It’s strawberry,” Simon called out to him and Raphael glared at him before taking the bait, sitting down opposite Simon and grabbing the milkshake.

“It looks like you guys are pretty busy, so I won’t take too long,” Simon began. “But I wanted to give you this. As like, a thank you for helping me out and a sorry for that misunderstanding earlier, all wrapped into one.”

He picked up the brown paper wrapped parcel from were it was beside him on the sofa and slid it across the table. Raphael’s hard expression gave way to one of confusion.

“What is it?”

“Well, it’s called a present - “ Raphael silenced him with a glare.

Simon smiled back at him. “I guess you’ll just have to open it and see.”

Raphael shot him another suspicious look before gently peeling back the brown paper. He froze when he saw the book cover, then recovered enough to lightly trace his fingers over the title, _Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury_. He stared at it a while, and the silence was suffocating.

Simon loved buying his friends presents and watching them open them was the best part, but he couldn’t read Raphael’s face. He couldn’t take it any longer.

“So it that a good reaction or bad? I mean, when you said Bradbury I thought - Oh no, you were talking about this Bradbury, weren’t you? Oh God, please tell me you meant this Bradbury.”

Raphael cleared his throat, finally looking up from the book at Simon. “I - Yeah, yeah I was. I, uh.”

But Simon was already beaming, and Raphael clearly thought the moment was getting a little too sweet, because he reached across the table and punched Simon’s shoulder.

"I told you I’ve been too busy lately.”

Simon’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, it grew as he saw Raphael try to discretely rub his knuckles.

“Open it,” he demanded. Raphael flicked open the book and saw the message scrawled on the inner cover.

_To Raphael,_

_For when you find the time!_

_Simon :)_

Simon nearly started to worry as Raphael went quiet again and he was unable to gauge his reaction. Suddenly, Raphael turned the book around so it faced Simon.

“What’s… that?” he said, pointing to the smiley face. Simon had to resist the urge to laugh. There was no way he wasn’t going to make a joke about Raphael being such a grump that he didn’t recognize a smiley face once he got back to 2016. Presuming he had put the whole “kill Simon” thing aside by then.

He decided he would take pity on him for now, seeing as how the internet hadn’t been invented yet.

“It’s a smiley face,” Simon explained, twisting the book so that the smiley face was right side up. “See? There’s the eyes, and there’s the smile.”

Raphael looked him dead in the eye, eyebrows raised, like he was considering getting up and walking away. “Seriously?” he said, completely deadpan.

“Shut up,” Simon said with a grin. “Do you like it?”

“Maybe.” Simon glared at him. Raphael smirked, and that was normal enough, but the light blush that appeared on his cheeks took Simon completely by surprise. “It’s alright, I guess.”

Simon decided to count it as a win.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little later than usual everyone! Also thank you for any kudos or comments you've left! A few have you have asked questions but I'm afraid if I answer I'm gonna accidentally spoil the story, but if you really want to ask me things I'm @frankcastlcs on tumblr and I'll do my best to answer without giving anything away.
> 
> I just thought I should let you all know, in case you've already guessed it. I have never been to New York and have zero knowledge about it, so I've kept it as vague as possible. Sorry to any real New Yorkers. There's a small time jump in this chapter, but I did my best not to make it too jarring.

Simon ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it back at the sides. It was a habit he picked up from Raphael, the same way he had picked up bouncing his leg when he was impatient from Clary and saying the word “nice” all the time from Rebecca.

He straightened his new jacket and the bell above the door rang as he entered the diner.

It was hectic. His regular booth was taken so he made his way to the counter and sat on one of the few empty stools. Antonella caught his eye as he sat down and shot him a smile.

“The usual?” she called out to him, placing a tray of four bottles of coke in front of a group of younger girls. He smiled back.

“Of course.”

“Is that a new jacket?” Antonella said as she approached the counter. She placed her tray down and grabbed his lapels, readjusting them. She quickly turned back to the counter to reload her tray with coke bottles, glass clinking.

“Yeah, thanks for noticing,” he said to her back as she whizzed away to serve another table.

He bent his elbows, stretching the leather. He knew it was a little superfluous, buying a leather jacket, but as the days went on he decided he might as well fully commit to this Grease cosplay.

Also, it was surprising how much money you saved when you lived in an abandoned warehouse and didn’t need to pay rent. Or electricity bills. Or for food, save for his near daily milkshakes that he didn’t even drink.

At least he was doing okay on the money front. The blood supply front, not so much. In truth, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the days flying by if it wasn’t for the fact he was running out of blood. 3 days ago marked the end of his third blood bag and his third week in 1956.

He’d been cutting back a little, not drinking as much, in the hopes of making it last longer. But it looked like he was going to have to do something about it soon, considering how he didn’t seem to be returning to 2016 anytime soon.

He’d mulled over the idea of a blood heist. He liked calling it a blood heist. It made him feel like he was in Ocean’s Eleven, about to pull some intricate badass heist, rather than what he was really going to do. Which was rob a few blood bags off the back of the truck heading to the blood bank. Decidedly less George Clooney than he would like.

The clang of dishes hitting the counter top snapped him out of thoughts of his potential blood heist. He looked up to see Happy, the manager of the dinner, smile at him as he brought out more plates from the kitchen.

“Maria is out today,” he explained. That made sense. Happy usually manned the register instead of handing out plates.

“We’re swamped today, so he might be a while,” Antonella said, back again and ducking under the counter to take the plates. He knew she was talking about Raphael. “You want me to hold on the milkshake?”

“Yeah, sure. And hey - do you guys want a hand?” Simon asked as Antonella tried to balance the plates on her arm. She wobbled and Simon’s hands darted out to hover around the plates, ready to catch.

Happy and Antonella shared a look. The bell over the door rang again as another group of teenagers entered.

“Good idea,” Happy decided. Simon beamed and ducked under the counter to take the plates out of Happy’s hands.

“Thanks man,” Happy said gratefully as he went back to the register where a family were waiting to pay.

Happy was a huge man, 6′4 with hands so big he could probably mush Simon’s head between them. But he was also a genuinely nice guy. Simon was in the diner nearly every day and he’d chatted to Happy on the slower days.

He learned he was 29 years old and had taken over the place from his dad. Simon guessed that must be a lot of pressure. He also had a son, but Simon still didn’t know the kid’s name. It wasn’t his fault that whenever Happy talked about his son he called him “the little man” or “junior”, and Simon had let it get to the point where it was too late to ask without sounding like an asshole.

Simon might be a nerd, but he was an extrovert. He liked being around people and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have lasted the past 3 weeks if he hadn’t had people to talk to. So he was glad he could help.

Maria usually just waited tables, but seeing how busy it was, Simon went were he was needed, waiting tables, getting plates from the kitchen, cleaning up after a kid spilled her coke. He’d spotted Raphael on one of his trips into the kitchen. He nodded at him and then disappeared deeper into the kitchen to continue working before Simon himself went back to work.

When closing time drew near, things were starting finally to slow and Simon was wiping a table down. Antonella placed a strawberry milkshake down in front of him. Right where he just cleaned.

“Free of charge,” she declared, using her thumb to point over her shoulder at Happy, who threw him a lazy salute. Simon smiled back, then lifted the milkshake to wipe away the ring the glass left on the table. Antonella grinned and continued into the kitchen to drop off more dirty glasses.

Raphael held the door open for her, then exited the kitchen himself. He said nothing, just strode towards Simon and took the milkshake from his hands, taking a huge gulp through the straw.

“You’re gonna get brain freeze,” Simon warned.

Raphael didn’t stop gulping it down, but threw him a look as if to say _please, I’m Raphael Santiago, petty things like brain freeze are beneath me_. When he finally stopped drinking, he let out a satisfied sigh. Then he looked at Simon, narrowing his eyes as if he just noticed something.

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally starting to dress himself properly,” Raphael said as he slapped him on the shoulder. Simon had forgotten about the new leather jacket until now, so busy with trying to keep the diner running smoothly.

“Guess I’m finally starting to rub off on you,” he continued with a condescending smirk.

“Shut up.” Simon knew he was teasing. This was how their conversations always went.

“Suits you,” Raphael added, surprising Simon before quickly going back to finish his milkshake. Simon bumped his shoulder off his in a silent thanks.

It reminded him of before. As in before he had freed Camille, when he was starting to get to know the clan. In a lot of ways Raphael was the same, so Simon had stopped differentiating between future vampire clan leader Raphael and human 1950′s Raphael.

Because while he was different on the surface, being undead and all, all the other differences boiled down to the fact the Raphael he first met was not as open as he was in the 50′s. But he was still there. The same sarcastic comments, the same loyalty to those he considered family, even the same preoccupation with his clothes.

Maybe that was why he kept coming back. Not just because of the loneliness, or because he found he actually got on well with Raphael, but because it reminded him of before. He was terrified he wouldn’t get home and his leads were getting colder and colder, but every time Raphael made some snide remark about his clothes, it felt normal. Which sounded ridiculous, he knew, but Raphael’s consistency was something Simon found comfort in.

The sound of slurping alerted Simon to the fact Raphael had drained the milkshake. He snatched the glass from his grasp and ducked under the counter to rinse it out. Raphael followed him and leaned on the the counter. Simon saw the opportunity and decided to take it.

“So, what’ll you have?” he said, putting on a strong New York accent. Raphael gave him an unimpressed look, but the corners of his lips curved up. He opened his mouth to say something when the bell over the door rang.

“Rafi! Are you still here?”

Raphael smiled and spun around. “I’m right here, Luis.”

“You were meant to be home ages ago! What’s taking you - “ Luis was holding a younger boy’s hand, nearly dragging him along, but he froze mid sentence when he caught sight of Simon standing behind Raphael. “Simon!”

He immediately let go of the younger boy’s hand, ran under the counter, not needing to duck, and barreled into Simon’s legs with a hug. It was pretty awkward. Not that Simon didn’t appreciate the sentiment, because he did, but Luis’ grip was too tight for him to bend down and hug him back, so he just ended up awkwardly patting his head.

“You know you’re not meant to be back here, little man,” Happy said, coming out from the kitchen to see what the noise was.

“Sorry, this is 100% my fault,” Simon said, “My buddy here wouldn’t be so excitable if I had gone to see him sooner.” Luis smiled up at Simon, but let go of his legs and ran back out under the counter.

“You remember my brother Eduardo, right Simon? Remember you met him when you had cake in my house?” Luis pointed at a little boy who been quiet up until now. Eduardo let out a what sounded like a squeak and dodged behind Raphael’s legs at having Simon’s attention directed at him.

“It’s our house too, you know,” Raphael sighed, then looked to Eduardo and ruffled his hair. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now? What are you doing running around with Luis?”

Eduardo’s wide eyes were still focused on Simon, so he smiled and gave the kid a little wave. “Hi, I’m Simon.”

Eduardo waved back but then lost his nerve and hid behind Raphael again. Simon turned his attention to wiping the counter to make the little boy more comfortable. If he remembered right, Eduardo was 5 or 6, and he seemed shy. The boy was still silent.

“Looks like the boys have a new favorite, Raphael,” Happy teased. He took the cloth from Simon and threw it in the sink. “Your big brother is right though, you probably should be getting to bed. You go on too, Simon. There’s not much left to do.”

Simon smiled in thanks. He noticed Eduardo pulling at Raphael’s jeans as they made to leave, but didn’t look at the boy again in case he made him nervous.

“Okay, okay,” Raphael said, “But only because it’s so late and I know you’re tired.” With that, Raphael leaned down and swooped his little brother up into his arms. Simon might have melted just a little.

Luis watched his brothers and Simon nudged him, saying, “Sorry, buddy, I would, but you’re a little too big for me I think.” Luis elbowed him, but laughed.

“Where are you staying, Simon?” he asked curiously. He couldn’t exactly tell Luis that he was staying in an abandoned warehouse. Which sucked, by the way. Vampires didn’t necessarily need sleep or indoor heating, but Simon liked sleeping and the thought of going to bed without 10 blankets layered over him sounded nice, no matter how much he enjoyed being a blanket burrito.

“Oh, it’s, uh, it’s this direction.” _Smooth, Simon, real smooth,_ he thought.

“That’s the same direction as us!”

“He knows, Luis. He’s been to our house before,” Raphael reminded his brother. He paused and shifted Eduardo on his hip. “ _Dios mio_ , I forget how big you’re getting.”

Simon smiled over at him and Eduardo ducked into Raphael’s neck, hiding his face. Raphael shot him an amused look and suddenly a sly smile appeared on his face.

“So, Simon,” Raphael began. “Have you read any interesting comic books lately?”

Simon nearly stopped walking in shock. The one time he had mentioned comics to Raphael, (because hello, he was literally transported back in time to the Golden Age of comics, of course he was going to look at them) Raphael had made it very clear he only liked _real books without any pictures, how old are you Lewis_.

Still, Simon was happy to play along. “Well, I was looking at a cool Batman comic yesterday.”

Slowly but surely, Eduardo peeked out at him.

“I like Batman too,” he mumbled after a minute. Simon could see Raphael smile and he understood that this was his plan all along

“Is he your favorite?” Simon asked. Eduardo nodded.

“Well, I think Superman is better,” Luis declared, a bit put out that Eduardo was taking up Simon’s attention. That got Eduardo out of his shell.

“No, he isn’t!”

“Yes, he is!”

“You’re wrong!”

Raphael made eye contact with Simon over Eduardo’s curly head of hair. “I’m sorry I asked.” 

Simon just smiled back, knowing that he wasn’t.

 

…

 

Even after Raphael and his brothers got to their house, Simon took the walk slowly. He was feeling pretty cheerful. Luis had been as excitable as ever, but he was a good kid. Eduardo was sweet too. The 5 year old had nearly fallen asleep on Raphael’s shoulder after the arguing had died down. Simon was a super strong vampire who was almost indestructible, but that had nearly turned him into mush.

Still, this time he was a lot more alert and he caught the familiar scent as soon as he got within 20 meters of the warehouse.

What would Magnus Bane be doing there, of all places? Simon had kept looking around, obviously, but he hadn’t run into Magnus or got in his way, at least not as far as he knew.

He decided standing outside the warehouse wasn’t going to give him any answers so he just went straight in to find Magnus standing over his backpack, holding a blood bag aloft. It was the only blood bag left with anything still in it. Simon had to resist the animal urge to growl.

“Why is my magic all over these?”

“Hello to you too,” Simon said warily. He really didn’t want to get tossed head first at another wall.

Magnus just sighed impatiently. Not a great sign, but his eyes weren’t yellow, so Simon was hopeful it meant no head bashing. He decided to try his luck.

“I did tell you I’m from the future. We know each other there.”

Magnus’ eyebrows knitted together and he shot him a look that said he didn’t fully believe it, but he was considering.

“You’re nearly out of blood. So you’re a vampire. A Daylighter.”

“How about we start with just Simon?”

“Okay, Sherwin it is then,” Magnus said with finality. Simon couldn’t help the laugh that burst from him. This Magnus was still a little too unpredictable for Simon to be comfortable with him the way he was with Raphael, but the familiarity of the situation cheered him up. The Warlock in question looked at him like he was a madman.

“I know I’m funny but -”

“No, no, it’s just,” Simon began, still trying to catch his breath, “It’s just that you do the exact same thing in the future, messing up my name.”

“No! No, I don’t want to know!” Magnus exclaimed. “Do not tell me anything about the future! I’m going to have to do a memory charm on myself as it is!”

“So you do believe me? Honestly, we are friends in the fu -”

“No!” Magnus put his fingers in his ears.

“But we -”

He started singing something that definitely wasn’t English and sounded a lot like opera. Simon let him go on for a minute and then held his hands up in surrender.

“Fine, fine, I won’t say anything. But I have to ask, what are you doing here?”

“Can’t friends just call on friends?” Magnus asked with a flourish of his hand. The regretful expression on his face made it clear this wasn’t the real reason.

“You hit a dead end with the demon,” Simon realized suddenly.

“I hit a dead end with the demon,” Magnus agreed, his shoulders dropping.

“So now you want to team up?”

“Not really, but I hate not knowing things. So, you help me, I help you, and we both get what we want. And it looks like you’re going to be wanting some more blood fairly soon.”

“The blood, I’ll take. But how are you gonna help me with the demon if you’re at a dead end too?” Simon asked honestly. Not that he wasn’t happy at the thought of some help, but he wanted to make sure it was a fair deal.

“Three things I have that you do not: money, magic and connections. And also good looks, but I digress,” Magnus said, counting on his fingers. “You share your information with me and I might be able to find out something you couldn’t.”

Simon didn’t even have to consider it. Since he’d arrived in 1956, he’d pretty much just gone in blind. He had prepared for 1942 and had mostly just winged it here. It would be a huge help so have someone who was a local in the time period.

“I followed a guy called Henri Bernard to that warehouse where the demon was summoned. Ringing any bells?”

“I can’t say so, no.”

“I thought he had the spell book I was spent back to find - “

“What did I say about telling me about the future?” Magnus scolded with a fierceness someone might react with if he had spoiled the latest episode of Game of Thrones.

“That was the least specific way I could have said it!” Simon defended himself. It was pretty hard to explain with out giving anything away. “Anyway, I thought he might have the book because he would meet up with the guy I first thought had it, Steven Hazelwood.”

“Hazelwood?” Magnus asked, holding up a finger to stop him. “Like Cecil Hazelwood’s son?”

“Yeah, that guy. I was originally meant to go to the 40′s to get the book off of him, but the ritual got messed up.”

“Unsurprising. Time portals can be hard to handle for amateur Warlocks,” Magnus mused. Simon wished he could tell him he just insulted himself, but he didn’t particularly want to hear another bout of opera.

“Cecil Hazelwood was a sly little bastard. I’ll have a look into it,” Magnus declared, striding towards the door.

“He’s pretty boring,” Simon said.   _And he smells bad._

“Don’t worry, Seamus dear,” Magnus called out over his shoulder. “I said I’d look into it. If it makes you happy you can search for that Bernard fellow.” The door closed behind him with a bang. 

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Simon asked the empty warehouse.

 

…

 

Needless to say, Simon was in a pretty good mood for the next few days. When he had woken up the morning after Magnus was at the warehouse, he saw all his blood bags had been refilled. And it was the good stuff too. Simon had been craving O+ for days. And yes, he was fully aware of how messed up that sounded.

For the first few days, he’d had a spring in his step. He was certain Magnus would get back to him soon. With his magic and connections, if anyone was going to find anything out about what was going on, it was Magnus.

That hope started to fade a little as the days stretched in to a week, then a week and a half.

He didn’t give up the hope completely though. Magnus had originally struggled to find any information about the demon, so maybe it wasn’t as easy as he made it out to be and he would be a little longer than Simon first expected. And that was okay, it was cool, so cool it was ice cold. Ugh. Simon had to stop lying to himself.

While he wasn’t technically dying to find out, on account that he was already dead, he really, really, _really_ wanted to know what information Magnus had been able to get.

Raphael noticed something was up. He’d been helping out in the diner more recently. It wasn’t like he had a lot to do where Bernard was concerned, seeing as how that lead was as dead as Simon.

He didn’t have to help much today though. Maria was back for the day and the diner was fairly empty. Simon was just glad to get his favorite booth back.

“Why are you all… twitchy?” Raphael asked, taking his hand off the straw of his milkshake to gesture vaguely in Simon’s direction.

“Twitchy?” Simon repeated.

“Yes. More than usual.” Raphael eyed Simon’s hands, where his fingers were bouncing on the table, creating a _tap tap tap_ as his nails hit the plastic. He looked like he was considering tying them together just so he’d stop.

Raphael was right, of course. When Magnus agreed to help him, he’d gotten so excited and expected something to happen immediately. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, Simon had to let out all the energy he’d been carrying around.

“Twitchy?” he repeated again, unwilling to let it go. “I buy a milkshake for you almost every day and you respond with insults? That’s it, Santiago, I’m done.”

“Happy gives you the milkshake on the house more times than not,” Raphael pointed out. “And that’s the most words you’ve said in one go all day. Which is… unusual.”

“First you call me twitchy, now you say I never shut up,” Simon huffed playfully. He knew he wouldn’t be able to deflect much longer, but he enjoyed the good-natured teasing. And if he was being honest, the thought that Raphael was concerned about him under all the insults sent a warm feeling through his chest.

“Am I wrong?”

“Really. Raphael. I. Am. Offended.” He emphasized each syllable with the tap of his nails. Raphael narrowed his eyes.

Simon grinned at him and relented, moving his hands to sit on them.

“I thought I got a lead on my family’s book,” Simon said simply. “But I’m not sure if it’s gonna pan out.”

He was a little worried, he could admit that. Magnus had completely restocked his blood bags. Maybe that was a sign of how long he planned to be. Simon didn’t think he could go another 4 weeks without knowing something. Anything. Even some clue as to how Bernard had gotten the book, he’d take it.

Raphael’s eyes were soft as they looked at him but then he glanced away and focused on something over Simon’s shoulder.

“I think I know something that might cheer you up.”

Simon made a confused face at him and turned around to see Happy approaching. There weren’t many people around, but he saw Happy had left one of the other guys at the register. Weird. He whipped back around to face Raphael.

“What’s going on?” he asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. Raphael just shrugged, but he wasn’t hiding his smirk as he did so.

“Hey fellas, how’s it going?” Happy said, coming to stop at the booth. Simon glanced at Raphael, who just leaned back into his seat, before cautiously replying.

“Hey Happy. Not much.”

“Good, good. Listen, Simon, I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” Happy said simply as slid into the booth to sit beside Raphael. That set off alarms bells in Simon’s head. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Happy sitting. The guy always seemed to be on his feet working, trying to keep the diner in order.

“That doesn’t sound at all ominous,” Simon muttered. “Hey!” The idea just hit him. “You’re not going to turn around and say the cost of all those free milkshakes you gave me were actually being added to a tab, are you?”

“No,” Happy chuckled. “And besides, it was this one here drinking them, not you,” he added as he gestured to Raphael.

“I’m only trying to save him from himself. He’s lactose intolerant.” Raphael seemed to relish the opportunity to tell someone he was lactose intolerant and kept buying milkshakes, if only so they’d agree with him about what an idiot Simon was.

Happy shot Simon a look that said he did indeed agree Simon was an idiot.

One of these days he was just going to whip out a blood bag and they’d wish they’d never said a word about the milkshakes.

“To get back to the matter at hand,” Happy said, clearing his throat and moving on, “I want to offer you a job.”

Simon’s brain went blank.

“It won’t be full-time, or permanent,” Happy warned. “It looks like Maria won’t be able to work for a while. Her _abuela_ is sick and she’s gotta look after her. Antonella can manage the tables, so it’d just be the cleaning up at the end of the day that you’d do. ”

When Simon still said nothing, Happy took his silence for uncertainty.

“Don’t worry - it shouldn’t be anywhere near as frantic as it was last Monday. That was just because because Gino’s was robbed and it closed for the day, and we got all their usual customers too. So, what do you say?”

Simon was grateful, honestly, but there were a million things running through his mind. Would it be fair to Happy to take the job when he might be leaving any day? But would he actually be leaving any time soon? When would Magnus get back to him?

Raphael kicked him under the table when he didn’t respond, sending him a sharp look.

Even though he was okay so far on the money front, it wouldn’t be any harm to plan ahead. And who knows - extra money might be good to have in case of an emergency.

“Sounds good,” Simon said, a smile spreading across his face. “Really, really good, actually.”

Happy smiled back and stood, holding out his hand to shake Simon’s, who had to pull his out from under his legs. Happy raised an eyebrow, but shook his hand anyway.

“Start tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Good man,” Happy said and left the booth to go back to the register.

“Huh,” Simon watched him go. Maybe it was true what they said, that people used to be nicer in the good old days. Then he whirled around on Raphael.

“You knew?”

“Of course. Happy talked to me about it. I thought you were going to blow it for a seconds there,” Raphael shrugged. That sent a jolt to Simon’s nerves. He couldn’t stop the urge to crack his knuckles and fiddle with his hands.

“You talked? About me?” He couldn’t control his curiosity, the words spilling out of him before he could stop himself, “What did you say?”

“Just that you were reliable,” Raphael said simply. He took a sip of his milkshake but his eyes focused on Simon’ hands where he twisted them on the table.

In that moment, all he could think of was the look on Raphael’s face when he had freed Camille. He hadn’t been so reliable then. He decided he was going to do his best to be so now.

“Thanks, buddy,” Simon said. Raphael let out a sound of protest, but didn’t stop drinking his milkshake.

“A job. Wow, a job.” It was just hitting Simon how permanent it all sounded. “A job where I will come in everyday and work and get paid money. Actual real money. Is it weird I’m nervous?”

“Yes. And stop fidgeting.”

Getting a job sounded a lot like he might be here for the long haul. And the thing was, he really had no evidence to the contrary.

“I mean it’s not like I haven’t had a job before, I have, just not around here. So, logically, it makes no sense for me to be worried - “

“No, it doesn’t,” Raphael interrupted. Simon paid him no mind.

“ -  but I can’t help being nervous, you know? And I have no work experience in a diner, or any kind of food place - “ Raphael raised an eyebrow at that.

“- and I know what you’re thinking! I know!” Simon pointed at Raphael before starting to tap his fingernails on the plastic of the table. “But helping out around here is a lot different from a job and I don’t want to mess up because now I’m kinda friends with you guys -”

“Simon - “

“ - and I don’t want you to get sick of me or let Happy down or - “

“Simon!”

Raphael grabbed his hands to hold them still in order to stop the tapping. And - oh. Raphael’s hands were warm against his skin. It felt nice. Which 100% definitely wasn’t at all weird.

It wasn’t weird, because Simon was only 18 years old and pretty sure he was bisexual, so you couldn’t blame him for being a little flustered at a good looking guy practically holding his hands. And he could admit completely impartially that Raphael was a good looking guy. So it was totally normal and absolutely not weird, Simon told himself.

It was a lot harder to get vampires to blush, because there was less blood in their system, but Simon was fairly certain he could feel his cheeks heating up.

He was grateful when Raphael let go, just so he wouldn’t embarrass himself further, but he missed the warmth.

“Do you feel better now you got all that out of your system?” Raphael asked. It took Simon a second to understand he was referring to his earlier panic.

Simon realized he was right. “Yes, actually, I do.”

Raphael rolled his eyes and Simon decided hanging around the diner wouldn’t be too much of a hardship. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I'm graduating school this week! And I've been super busy which is why this is a little late. But. I have pushed the number of chapters up from 10 to 12! I hope I'll be able to stick to that and not make it any longer, but I guess we'll see. Thank again to everyone who left comments or kudos, you guys make my day :)
> 
> I really recommend listening to Spotify's "All Out 50's" playlist while reading this, because that's what I listened to while writing it and it was prob the best decision of my life.

“So,” Raphael began when he dropped down on to the sofa booth opposite Simon. As he leaned back into the seat, his clothes caught Simon’s eye. They were a little nicer than usual, a dark red bomber jacket replacing his usual black leather. Simon absently noticed how good the red looked against his dark complexion. He quickly banished the thought.

“Whatever it is, I’m too tired for it,” he answered. And it was true.

Simon’s first few days on the job were just like Happy described, just some cleaning, pretty easy going. He chatted to Antonella as he wiped down counters, got to meet the guys in the back that worked with Raphael. It was nice. Everyone was was pretty welcoming and Simon could feel his loneliness easing a little, even though it was still there.

The point was, everything was fine until his sixth working day, which also happened to be the start of his sixth week in 1956. Because on the sixth day, Simon discovered a spot of hard grease on the floor behind the counter.

He went to clean it, because that’s what he was getting paid for. He whipped out some water and a brillo pad and got stuck in. It didn’t budge. It only began to fade when he started to apply a little vampire strength. At the time, Simon thought of it as a victory.

How naive he was.

Simon had stepped back to admire his handiwork, which probably constituted as hard manual labor considering how he spent nearly an hour scrubbing a spot that couldn’t be more than a few inches across. 

It was in that moment he realized how filthy the rest of the floor was by comparison. He hadn’t seen the film of grease that covered the floor before, because he had assumed the the floor tiles were meant to be cream and dull red. What was it he had been thinking about Nancy Drew? Oh, yeah. Simon was basically Nancy Drew, if she was a boy and a vampire and solved mysteries like “what color the diner floor is really meant to be” instead of, y’know, solving murders.

The floor was meant to be stark white and candy apple red, by the way.

And Simon had tried to play it cool, he really had, but once he saw that one clean spot in comparison with the rest of the floor, he knew he had to do something. 

His mom might have said he was “stress cleaning” because he still hadn’t heard back from Magnus, but she would never get the opportunity to because a) she was 60 years in the future, b) she didn’t know who Magnus was, never mind the issue of _what_ he was, and c) the first thing she’d probably say would be something like “if a boy isn’t calling you back, it’s his loss” and she’d keep repeating it no matter how many times Simon would try to tell her it really wasn’t like that. Hey, at least she would be supportive.

So now, days later, on a mild Friday evening, Simon was exhausted. He’d scrubbed the entire section of floor behind the counter clean, which had taken time, not only because of how hard the dirt was stuck, but also because he could only work when no one else was. He couldn’t really expect Antonella to be stepping over him every time she went to serve a table. She’d probably purposely drop cheesy fries on his head.

“It’s your own fault, you know,” Raphael pointed out, snapping Simon out of the terrifying flashbacks of that one spot under the register. He suppressed a shudder at the thought.

“Listen, when I commit, I commit. You know what they say -  go hard or go home,” Simon said, stretching his arms over his head, his joints popping. He realized his mistake too late. 

“I’ve never heard anyone say that in my life,” Raphael scoffed. 

“Well, I’ve got a feeling it’s going to catch on,” Simon retorted, hoping Raphael wouldn’t push it. That kind of thing had happened a few times, Simon slipping up. He didn’t want to Raphael to start thinking he was crazy, so it was better to change the topic. “Are you going to tell me what you were going to say?”

“Thought you were _too tired_?” Raphael asked with an eye roll. Simon shot him a glare. He hesitated, glancing away before he continued, “Me and some of the guys working here are planning to go bowling, to that new place on the corner of 5th.”

“Okay?”

“We thought we’d ask if you wanted to come,” Raphael said, speaking faster than usual. Simon barely noticed it, too happy with what he had said.

“Really? You guys want me to come?” The thought of it perked Simon right up. Maybe it was wrong to be making friends and putting down roots when he could be leaving at anytime, but he was a social person. He liked having friends, liked chatting to people and it was always nice to be invited places.

Raphael slicked his hair back. “You do work with us now, and almost everyone from the diner is going.”

“Okay then, you convinced me,” Simon said. “When is this all happening?”

“Now. Or at least when Happy is done closing the register,” he amended.

Simon let out a huff. “Thanks for the notice. Hey, is that why you’re dressed nice? Great, I’m just wearing normal day stuff,” he said, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket.

“I meant to ask you a few days ago but I forgot. And you look fine, so don’t start fidgeting.”

Simon wondered if Raphael would grab his hands again if he kept adjusting his collar, trying to remember how his warm hands had felt wrapped around his. But the sound of the kitchen door flying open distracted him from the thought. A couple of guys piled out of the kitchen, some of them even wearing old style stripey bowling shirts. Raphael stood and Simon figured that was his cue to follow.

“Simon!” Antonella called out from by the diner’s entrance. “Are you coming tonight?”

“Yeah I am, even though I only got told about it two minutes ago,” Simon said to her, shooting a grin at Raphael at the same time.

Raphael rolled his eyes. “I said I forgot to ask you.”

“Don’t mind him. Maria will be there and you’ll get to meet some of the others from the earlier shift too. It’s gonna be great,” Antonella told Simon, linking arms with him. She more or less pulled him out the door.

Raphael was grateful, because it meant Simon was a safe distance away and couldn’t hear Manuel when he nudged Raphael and said, “You forgot, huh? Sure you weren’t just nerv - “

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said dismissively, pushing past Manuel and going to catch up with Simon and Antonella.

 

…

 

They met Maria at the bowling alley, where she barely had time to introduce him to everyone on the earlier shift before they started playing bowling. They split into teams, early shift against late shift. Despite the fact that they were spread over 3 lanes, everyone was talking to each other, shouting over heads and cheering their team on when they did well.

Simon was pretty sure he hadn’t played bowling since his tenth birthday party, but he was happy to give it a shot. He thought back to how he’d thrown a knife at Raphael when he was kidnapped and it got him dead in the heart. He hoped his aim was still as good, even if he was dealing with bowling balls instead of knives. Not that there was much a difference, if you looked at how seriously everyone else from the diner was taking it. This was war.

“Come on, new guy! Show us what you got!” a girl from the early shift called out behind him. Simon suppressed a grin and threw the ball, getting a perfect strike.

Manuel whooped as Simon turned back around to face his team, holding his hands above his head in victory. Looked like he still had it.

“That’s not fair. He’s a shark,” the girl said, but she had a grin on her face. She held up her hand for a high five. “I’m Barbara.”

“Simon,” he replied, happily returning the high five.

“Simon! Stop consorting with the enemy!” Manuel appeared beside Simon, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“Enemy? Funny, I thought I was your girlfriend,” Barbara retorted, smirking up at Manuel.

“All’s fair in love and war, babe.”

“Just remember that when I kick your ass.”

Simon was starting to feel a little awkward, still trapped under Manuel’s arm and unable to escape from their weirdly competitive flirting. He caught Raphael’s eye and gave him an alarmed look, glancing to Manuel and Barbara beside him. Raphael smirked and came over to save him.

“Hey, Manny, you’re up. I think you’re after him, Babs,” he said. Simon was finally free as Manuel went to take his shot, Barbara following him, presumably to continue with the flirting before she took her own shot.

“Thank you. I didn’t know whether they were going to start fighting or making out,” Simon said, slapping a hand on Raphael’s shoulder before falling into one of the seats beside the bowling lanes.

“Why do you think Happy keeps them on separate shifts?”

Simon chuckled and Raphael sat down beside him, bumping their shoulders. Simon felt a flash of warmth run up his shoulder to his chest at the contact. He jumped right into conversation with the early shift members sitting across from him, determined not to think about it.

“So you guys all live around here, huh?”

“Yeah,” said the guy in the striped black, blue and white bowling shirt, leaning over the table. “What about you, where are you from, Simon?”

He searched his brain for the guy’s name. He was pretty sure Antonella had introduced him as Al, but only 70%, which wasn’t enough to risk calling him that just in case he was wrong.

“Uh, well, I’m from New York,” Simon said, remembering what he had told Raphael weeks ago, “but I moved away when I was a kid. My family lives in, uh - “ This was something Simon had to improvise. “ - Iowa now. Yeah, Iowa.”

Al opened his mouth to reply but a loud squeal caused everyone to turn to look at the lanes, where Manuel had lifted Barbara and was spinning her around in a circle.

“Let’s see you make a strike with the room spinning!” Manuel declared as he put her down. Barbara was giggling.

“I’m still going to do better than you did, sweetheart. C’mon, four pins? Not going to be that hard to beat.” 

“Low blow, babe,” Manuel said, clutching his heart like she had stabbed him. She leaned up on her toes and kissed him and Simon diverted his eyes. Everyone at the table chuckled, used to the couple’s antics.

“You got a girl back home in Iowa, Simon?” Maria asked, strolling back over from where she had ordered a few cokes for their table.

Simon thought of Clary, about how there had been a time he’d give anything for her to be “his girl”. Now, being removed from that whole situation as he currently was (60 years in the past removed), he could admit that ship had sailed long ago. 

So much had changed between them in recent months and Simon was starting to think he’d been holding on to those feelings just he’d have something that felt normal. He still loved her of course, she was his best friend. It was just that his priorities seemed to have shifted - worrying about whether she was even alive could do that. Right now, he just wanted her to be alive and happy.

That was his main worry, though in second place it was followed by one that had come about from a particularly strange dream, where he got back to the future to find Clary had read his letter to her and he had to awkwardly explain that he didn’t actually think he loved her like that anymore, and his dream self’s embarrassment had been so bad he woke up feeling it.

He really hoped Isabelle would wait for some kind of confirmation of his death before handing those letters out. 

“Nope, I’m single. And ready to mingle,” he added on impulsively. It had the desired affect, some people laughed while Raphael just groaned.

The sound of clattering bowling pins distracted everyone else at the table. They all looked over to see a triumphant Barbara and Manuel with his head in his hands.

“Did you really just say that out loud?” Raphael asked him, a disgusted expression on his face.

“Don’t be jealous of my poetic ability,” Simon admonished playfully as everyone else gathered around Barbara, leaving just Simon and Raphael sitting there. It seemed like she had gotten that strike after all.

“I’m not jealous of your anything, Shakespeare,” Raphael shot back, the corners of his lips curling upwards. 

“Please, Shakespeare couldn’t hold a candle to my utter mastery of the English language.”

Raphael huffed a laugh and Simon beamed. Every laugh he got out of Raphael created a twinge of pride and maybe something else in his own chest.

“Long as you keep up your mastery of bowling, you can recite as many poems as you like,” Manuel interjected, coming up from behind to clap a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “We’re gonna need everything we got to take down those  _cheaters_!” He said the last part louder, almost shouting it over to where the early shift were congratulating Barbara.

Barbara blew a kiss at her boyfriend and Raphael laughed again. Simon couldn’t shake that comfortable feeling of being safe and surrounded by friends.

 

…

 

They beat the early shift, but narrowly. It was Simon’s last strike that pushed their points over the top.

“I could totally carry you around on my shoulders,” Manuel told him. “Come on, it’ll be great!”

Simon was glad Manuel felt like their friendship had reached that stage, but Simon didn’t know if they were there yet.

“Yeah, if you want us to get thrown out,” Antonella said, coming to his rescue. They were all sitting around a few tiny tables in the small diner that was connected to the bowling alley.

Simon heard a strange click and almost panicked before the music started and he realized it was the jukebox. The fast paced music made him want to tap his feet. Maybe that was just his good humor after having such a great time and being able to forget about everything that was going on, even if it was just for a short while.

“You guys are no fun,” Manuel said, standing up. “Hey, Babs. You want to dance?” Barbara grinned from where she was sitting two tables away and stood up to join him.

They started dancing then, Manuel’s hand on her waist and their feet moving so fast Simon couldn’t believe it wasn’t coordinated. He was even more impressed when Manuel held on to her waist and flipped her. Then flipped her back again. This was like some theater kid’s wet dream. He was literally in the real life Grease, impromptu dance routines and all.

Most of the others stood up in twos, starting to join in on the dancing. Antonella was dancing with Al, spinning around so fast Simon’s eyes was struggling to keep up.

It looked fun, but more than that, it amazed Simon how everyone seemed to already know their steps, moving in perfect sync. He leaned back in his seat and watched. 

It was just him and Raphael at their table now. Simon’s head suddenly filled with ridiculous ideas. He dismissed them as quickly as they came, reluctant to think about them for too long.

“Everything okay?” Raphael asked, almost like he could sense the weird direction Simon’s thoughts had taken.

“Yep, A-okay, why?” Simon replied swiftly.

“You’ve gotten all quiet,” he said. Simon was going to act offended, but then Raphael softly continued, “You heard from your family?”

“What?”

“You mentioned your family earlier. You been talking to them at all?”

Simon looked at Raphael properly then and saw that he was concerned for him. That did something funny to Simon, sent a weird ache through his chest, no matter how much he willed it to stop.

“It’s fine, I’ve been sending them postcards,” Simon lied. He didn’t like how good he was getting at it. He looked back to everyone dancing. “I’m sure my sister is glad to be rid of me for a while.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Raphael said, muffled under the sound of the music. Simon smiled and hoped Raphael got the message. He was grateful for this quiet moment of concern.

The song ended with another click of the jukebox and everyone was clamoring to get at it for the next song. The familiar tune of Blue Suede Shoes soon filled the room.

Simon wished he could excuse himself before he had to see a room full of teenagers unironically dance like Elvis.

“Hey, Simon, you want to dance?” Maria asked him. The tone of her voice wasn’t flirtatious, just friendly. It struck Simon again how kind everyone was being. He was lucky to have found such a good group of people.

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to leave my buddy here all by his lonesome,” he said, gesturing at Raphael. He didn’t even need to turn and look at Raphael to know he was glaring.

“Why isn’t Raphael dancing?” another girl chimed in. Simon was, like, 95% confident her name was Roberta.

“Yeah, Raphael, why aren’t you dancing?” Maria asked, turning on him. “If you don’t, you’re gonna be left here all alone, because Simon’s coming to dance with me.”

“Wait, I am?” Simon hoped they couldn’t hear the panic in his voice. He wasn’t great at dancing, but especially not this kind of dancing. There was a reason Simon played guitar in his band, and that was so he’d have an excuse not to move.

“Yes.” Maria took his hand and pulled him out of his seat. Beside him, Raphael sighed dramatically, but took Roberta’s hand.

“I’m, uh - I can’t really dance,” Simon tried to tell her.

“It’s not that hard,” Maria said with a smile. Simon still had his doubts.

And he was proven right. Maria definitely hadn’t been taking him seriously when he said couldn’t dance, because she expected him to at least know the basics. Which he did not. His mom had made him take a lesson or two for his bar mitzvah, but he had forcefully wiped those memories from his mind. Yes, he was that bad.

She tried to teach him some basic steps, but it was all a little too fast for Simon to follow. They ended up just generally moving forward or back in time with the beat, and while the ridiculousness of it all made it fun, he released Maria after the song ended, getting the feeling that she wanted to dance with someone who actually knew how to.

He was a little relieved to be sitting down again, watching as the others whirled around the floor. He spotted Raphael almost immediately, dancing with a different girl, Roberta having moved on. He understood now why they acted surprised that Raphael wasn’t dancing, because he was so good at it. Like,  _really_ good.

He moves quickly, lifting and spinning the girl. He had forgone his red jacket and was just wearing a white t-shirt, his biceps filling out the sleeves every time he lifted her. Simon forced himself to look away, but he didn’t feel too bad. Hey, he was allowed get distracted, he was only human. Well, not really, not anymore, but it was the principle of it.

 _It wasn’t weird_ , Simon told himself again.

All those ridiculous ideas from earlier came flooding back.

Raphael moved as gracefully as he always had. He was one of the best dancers there, so that’s how Simon justified watching him. Two songs later, Raphael caught him looking.

“Do you want to leave?” he said, coming back over to the table where Simon was sitting.

“Well, I might go in a bit, but you stay and enjoy yourself. You’re really good at that - “ Simon gestured to the other teenagers dancing, “ - by that way.”

Raphael’s face stayed neutral. “I’m kind of tired.”

Simon nodded. He guessed it made sense for them to leave at the same time. It was getting late out and they were going in the same direction anyway.

“Okay,” he said simply. They said goodbye to the others, who waved and then went back to dancing. They were good people and Simon was glad they had invited him out.

It was cold outside, despite it being mid May, so they walked briskly. Night had fallen while they were inside, and now the streets were completely dark, save for the dull yellow emitting from the street lamps. Simon could hear their bulbs buzzing.

“Hope I didn’t embarrass myself too bad with that dancing,” he said to Raphael. There was a group of drunks ahead, leaning on the wall outside of a bar. Simon almost got worried, but he saw that the men were to far gone to even stand without support, never mind start to hassle them.

“Dancing? That’s what you were doing? I thought you were having a minor seizure,” Raphael snorted. Simon laughed too. They sidestepped the drunks easily.

“Sorry, we can’t all be Fred Astaire,” Simon shot back. 

Every time he caught himself unconsciously checking Raphael out or thinking about how it would feel to dance with him, Simon had forced himself not to think about it, or better yet, told himself, over and over, it wasn’t weird. But he never really believed it. 

Except for now, because this wasn’t weird. This was just him and Raphael, making fun of each other like they always did.

Behind them, the men had broken out into some sort of Irish ballad. He was pretty sure he could hear one of them crying. Simon remembered how much he loved New York.

“You weren’t that bad,” Raphael relented. “Maria was just going too fast for you. You could probably get the hang of it if your teacher was going slower.”

Those images of him dancing with Raphael came again, but he said nothing. Just because he was coming to terms with his weird crush didn’t mean he was going to risk it.

A frosty wind hit them, and Simon wouldn’t have heard Raphael’s muttered, “Shit,” if it wasn’t for his vampire hearing. He turned to look at him properly and realized what the problem was.

“Where’s your jacket?” He flinched internally at how much he sounded like his own mom, but he meant it. It was a pretty cold night for May.

“Think I left it at the table in bowling alley,” Raphael replied, his teeth clenched. Simon had never known Raphael to pay so little attention to his jackets before, so he said so.

“How? I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you safely secured all your jackets in a padlocked glass box whenever you take them off.”

“Ha. Ha,” Raphael said in a tone that made it clear how funny he really thought it was. Simon’s eyes were drawn to his arms again, not because of his biceps this time, but because Raphael had wrapped them around himself to protect himself from the cold.

Raphael kept walking forward, but Simon made his decision and stopped to take his own jacket off before dropping it on Raphael’s shoulders.

This time it was Raphael that stopped.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I’d hate to have to explain to Luis that I let his big brother catch pneumonia, so,” Simon shrugged, turning to look at Raphael. 

The jacket was a little small at the shoulders, and maybe a bit too long, but at least he’d be frostbite free. Raphael must have come to the same conclusion, because he started to walk again, slipping his arms into the sleeves, though not without directing the smallest bit of a glare at Simon.

The memory came suddenly, about when he’d borrowed Raphael’s suit for the wedding that never was. Simon’s vampire senses had been unable and unwilling to ignore it, the smell of Raphael that was stuck to the suit. He didn’t know how to describe it. Each person had their own scent, but Raphael's was something else entirely. He wondered if that’s how his jacket would smell when he got it back. Then he wondered if that was a weird thing to wonder, the answer to which was probably yes.

“It’s my favorite leather jacket, so be careful. Don’t go leaving it at some table,” Simon said, unable to resist teasing Raphael.

“This is your only leather jacket,” Raphael deadpanned.

“Well excuse me! You think you’re hot stuff now just because you’re wearing a cool jacket?” he said dramatically, purposely going over the top. Raphael shook his head, but Simon could see the beginnings of a smile. Maybe it was that that made him do what he did next. Or maybe the fact he hadn’t had any blood since this morning made him a little loopy.

“I’ll show you, Santiago,” he declared, then ruffled his hair with no little amount of force. All that grease was doing a great job at holding Raphael’s hair in position but Simon was determined to beat it.

Raphael jabbed at his stomach, forcing him back. The sucker punch might have bruised a human, but Simon could only laugh. Raphael’s hair was stuck up in every direction.

“You’re dead, Lewis,” Raphael hissed. His face looked murderous, but Simon could see the faint amusement in his eyes. Knowing Raphael, the only thing he probably found funny right know was the thought of what he was going to do to Simon in revenge.

Simon definitely didn’t think this through.

Raphael lunged at Simon’s own hair, but he ducked and took off running down the street. He could have used his vamp speed, but that would’ve been no fun. 

Raphael chased him and almost had him until Simon dodged to the side, slipping through his arms. He let out a laugh and Raphael grinned back. Simon felt out of breath, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t from the running. 

He went at him again and he was more agile than Simon had given him credit for. He feinted left before going right and threw his arms around Simon, forcing him into a headlock.

He held him there for a second, letting him know he was beaten, before messing up Simon’s equally well gelled hair with a triumphant “Hah!”. Simon supposed he could have fought back, but he was too busy laughing.

Yep, the lack of blood had definitely made him a bit loopy. That was his excuse, and he was sticking to it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's finally here! And it's over a week after I said it would be!! I'm so sorry but it took a lot longer to get things finished up with school and my exams than I thought it would. In the meantime though I went over the earlier chapters to correct any mistakes and also big thank you to NymphettEcho for the Spanish help on chapter 2. I haven't looked over this chapter as I wanted to post it asap, but I'll read through it tomorrow and fix up any mistakes. 
> 
> Just a warning: some mild discussion of torture in this chapter, though nothing graphic.

A loud bang woke Simon up suddenly. He was on his feet before he even realized it, sinking into a crouch and baring his fangs.

“Down, boy.” Simon heard Magnus’ amused voice and relaxed enough to rub the sleep out of his eyes.  For all he was an immortal creature of the night, he was still a teenage boy and he wasn’t great at sudden alertness. 

“What’s with the wake up call?” Simon asked, trying not to sound as grumpy as he felt. Waking up was hard. Magnus’ good humor wasn’t making it any easier.

“I’ve got something good,” Magnus proudly declared. “Something really good.”

Simon fixed him with a look. “And you couldn’t have waited like a normal person until I was awake?”

Magnus scoffed. “What about this -” Magnus waved his hand up and down his body, “- makes you think I’m a normal person?”

Simon had to agree with him. Unlike the dapper suits Simon had seen him wear before, Magnus was sporting a much more greaser-like look. But of course, he would never go for something so simple without adding a touch of his own style. The collar of his leather jacket was studded with jewels of all colors that seemed to reflect the light and instead of a typical plain t-shirt underneath, Magnus wore a crop top with frayed edges.

Pair the outfit with Magnus’ good looks and status as a Warlock, and no one would everyone think to call him normal. Simon knew he took pride in that. Simon also felt a little insecure in the baggy t-shirt and boxers he had slept in, so he grabbed a pair of pants off the floor.

“Forget I said anything. What have you got?” Simon asked before he froze stock still. He’d already put one leg in his pants and he’d just realized he really didn’t want Magnus to see him do the daily jumping dance/struggle it took to put on the slim fit jeans that were so popular in this time.

Magnus had clearly realized the same thing as he turned around to face the wall, though not without amusement clear on his face.

“I’ve only pretty much cracked the case,” Magnus began. “But I’ll walk you through it. Your original plan was to go to Cecil Hazelwood in 1942 and get a spell book from him. My sources tell me he had _An Leabhar Draíochta Chúige Chonnacht_ in his possession _._ Is the book you wanted?”

“Yeah, and that’s why I’ve been referring to it simply as _the book_ ,” Simon answered. What a mouthful. He buttoned his pants and Magnus, guessing he was dressed as the noises of him strugging to get into his pants had ceased, turned around to raise an eyebrow at him.

“You know that just literally means _The Magic Book of Connacht_ , right? Irish Warlocks, while generally decent at magic, are not very creative when it comes to naming things.”

“You’re kidding. Why didn’t you tell me that in the future?” Simon asked, flopping down to sit on the nest of blankets he was using as a bed. While he’d been preparing to travel into the past, he must have tried saying the name a hundred times and not once had Magnus helped him out with that little bit of knowledge.

“Like I’d know. You’d have to take that up with future me,” Magnus said, eyeing the nest of blankets with disapproval.

“I’m starting to think you like me more here than in the future,” Simon teased, moving to create some space for Magnus in case he wanted to sit down anyway. It probably wasn’t the kind of luxury he was used to, but Simon hadn’t exactly decorated his little abandoned warehouse so if Magnus wanted to sit, the blankets were really his only option.

Magnus huffed out a laugh. “Future me must _really_ dislike you then.”

Simon let out an insulted “Hey!”, but Magnus sat down beside him so he took it for the teasing it was.

“I tracked down one of the men Hazelwood served with in the War, which wasn’t easy considering he was with the British Armed Forces. Hazelwood was a part of a crack squadron that was scoping out Axis bases in France in ‘42.”

“And when he died in the War, the book disappeared,” Simon continued.

“Well,” Magnus said. “That’s both true and untrue.” 

Simon didn’t bother to voice his confusion as it was written plain on his face.

“Yes, Hazelwood died in France during wartime, but he didn’t die _in_ the war. The man I spoke to recalled how their squadron had been getting along fine, no deaths, until they came to a sweet little rural village. That was when Hazelwood vanished. They looked for him everywhere but there wasn’t a sign of him.” Magnus paused dramatically. “They were on their way out of the village, convinced Hazelwood had gone AWOL, until they came across his mutilated body a few miles out of town.”

Simon had to admit, Magnus really knew how to tell a story.

“Shot execution style in the head, but his ribs were bruised and a few of his fingers missing. Obviously there had been torture involved, but on his chest there were, and I quote, “occult symbols” painted in blood.”

“All the records in the future say he died in combat,” Simon told him.

Magnus shrugged. “The “occult symbols were enough to stop the other officers from investigating. They were tired and homesick and they had signed on to fight Nazis, not the “devil worshipers”.”

Magnus clearly found the idea of these supposed occult symbols amusing, but Simon thought the whole thing sounded pretty grisly. He was still pretty new to all this Downworlder murder and magic stuff, but he didn’t think he’d ever get used to hearing about a guy having his fingers chopped off.

“Why did they torture him? Who did it to him?” Simon said quietly, feeling more than a little queasy.

“Well, there was no shortage of people in the Shadow World who didn’t like him. But there was only one person with a connection to the Shadow World who close enough for me to get suspicious. And that was your dear little French friend Henri Bernard.”

Simon was surprised, to say the least, but he was happy that they had found some kind of connection between Bernard and the Hazelwoods. “You think he killed Hazelwood to find out the location of the book?”

“I haven’t been able to find much on Bernard, but in 1942 he was living only 5 miles away from where Hazelwood died. Considering that and what you told me about BBernard using the book, I’d say there’s a pretty high chance he’s the murderer, yes.” Magnus stretched his legs out, a smug smile on his face. “Told you it was good.”

It was good, Simon couldn’t deny that. He’d been able to track Bernard down a few weeks ago only because he has gone through half a dozen phone books, but finding out information about his past had been next to impossible. Research was hard without the internet.

“Only took you the better part of four weeks,” Simon joked. He might have only been teasing, but the truth was he’d started to get pretty nervous when Magnus hadn’t returned.

Magnus narrowed his eyes at him. “This is my first detective gig, okay? I think I did pretty well considering.”

“Alright, okay, I bow down to your superior detective skills. Especially if you can tell me why, if Bernard had tortured the location of the book out of Hazelwood, does he keep meeting with Steven Hazelwood?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked, Sherwin,” Magnus said with a grin, “I think Hazelwood Senior put a blood spell on the book to stop anyone who wasn’t him from opening it. He’d need to place a drop of blood on to a designated spot on the cover of the book to open it. The same blood runs in his son’s veins, but Hazelwood Senior would never think of his son opening the book, because his son has no magic.”

Simon nodded along with Magnus’ explanation, the pieces of the puzzle connecting in his head. “So there’s two possibilities,” he said, “Steven Hazelwood is voluntarily giving Bernard the blood to open the book, but it would be hard for Bernard to explain how he got the book without implicating himself in Hazelwood’s murder.”

“Exactly, so the second, much more likely possibility is that Junior doesn’t even know about any of it. If Bernard has magic it would be easy for him to get a few drops of blood off of him without him realizing,” Magnus chimed in.

Simon really felt like it was an opportune moment for a high five, but he was also 98% sure Magnus would leave him hanging if he suggested it. 

“Huh,” Simon said, “You really are good at this detective stuff. I guess you deserve to be Holmes after all.”

“There was never any question about which of us would be Holmes, my dear Watson. But… You did have a point about how long it took me. Sometimes I get caught up in my work and forget just about everything else, including the fact you need blood refills. So here.” Magnus’ hand was covered in a shimmer of blue before a card appeared between his fingers. Simon took it.

_Be it magical mysteries or mind-boggling murders, no one will solve them faster than -_

_MAGNUS BANE, DETECTIVE_

_Call 202-555-0121 to see if he can help you!_

Simon said nothing, just looked up at him in disbelief.

“What? Is the font not serious enough?”

The font was fine, if you were willing to look past the fact it was a shimmering pink. At least it wasn't Comic Sans.

“No, no, it’s good,” Simon said with what he hoped was a convincing smile. Magnus looked pleased.

“I figured I might as well give this detective business a shot after we sort out your problem. And anyway, now you have my number for emergencies. Which brings me to the other reason why I’m here at this early hour…” Magnus trailed off and started digging around in the pockets of his leather jacket for something.

“That book would let Bernard manipulate time portal energy so it is imperative we find him and stop him as soon as possible. I’ve got a few possible locations in mind - Aha!” Magnus exclaimed as he pulled out a thin silver chain from his pocket. He placed it in Simon’s hand, the silver chain pooling in his palm and the small pendant resting on top.

“I - Well, I mean - thanks, but I’m not really a jewelry kind of guy,” Simon said, frowning down at the necklace.

Magnus rolled his eyes, making it clear he was starting to lose his patience. “This piece of “jewelry” is enchanted. It will stop demons sensing your presence, so you’ll be able to snoop around these locations without getting mauled.” 

Magnus whipped out a piece of paper from another pocket, leaving Simon to wonder what else he had in there, before placing it on top of the necklace in Simon’s hand. It was a list of places and Simon knew a few of them. They were all local, all New York.

“Why aren’t you using it then?” he asked Magnus. The necklace sounded a little similar to the ruby one Isabelle wore in the future. Surely something like that would be too valuable to just give away. 

“I said it will stop demons sensing you, not make you completely invisible. I’m a little too recognizable in Downworlder circles. Bernard or anyone he’s in league with would know who I am and would take extra precautions around me. But you, my friend, are an unknown entity. Whatever demons Bernard has summoned wouldn’t be able to sense you vampiric nature and you can use that and your enhanced senses to follow him back to his lair should you run into him.”

Simon was silent for a moment. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, turning to face Magnus so that he could fully appreciate the look of skepticism on his face. “The grand plan is for me to check out some Downworlder hot spots and hope I run into him?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like a terrible plan.” Magnus got up and dusted his clothes off. “But the truth is Bernard can’t just mutter an incantation and manipulate time portal energy. He’ll need supplies. And that list has the most likely places he’ll get for them.”

“I guess I’ll let you know if I find anything,” Simon said half-heartedly, glancing down at the list. He didn’t like their chances and was about to say so to Magnus, but when he looked up, the Warlock was already gone.

 

**…**

 

Simon had a lot to think about, but luckily, it turned out Magnus had woken him up at 6.30 am, so he had plenty of time to think about it. And yes, that “luckily” was meant sarcastically. Very, very sarcastically.

He bought a map to track down the places on the list he didn’t already know and checked out a few of the ones he already did, despite the fact Magnus had written at the end of the list that Downworlders only really gathered at these spots at night. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to know where he was going when he checked the places out again later.

That’s how he spent his day, checking out places and thinking about which to investigate first when darkness fell. He liked calling it “investigating”. He was really all too fond of the spy genre and all this snooping around was bringing out his inner double-oh-seven. Not that he had anything on Daniel Craig, because that guy in a suit was something else entirely. Then his mind moved on to Raphael and his suits, and just why hadn’t Simon appreciated them properly when he had been in the future?

It kept happening, Simon would think of the case and the search for Bernard and somehow his thoughts would drift to Raphael. Because Simon couldn’t just get a cute, meaningless crush, oh no. When he fell for someone, he fell _hard_.

So he was all too happy when the time came for him to go to work, because it meant seeing Raphael, as embarrassing as that sounded.

He was a whole street away when he smelled it. Raphael’s blood.

If Simon used his vampire speed to cover that last street in the blink of an eye, no one ever needed to know.

Antonella must have realized he knew something from the worried look on his face when he burst into the diner. She wore an equally concerned expression. “They’re in the back.”

Simon ducked under the counter and headed straight into the kitchen. He probably would have barreled face first into Manuel if Raphael hadn’t hauled Manuel back at the last second, pulling him back from the door as Manuel struggled to leave. 

Manuel had a cut on his forehead. From the stickiness of the blood around the wound, he guessed it was pretty fresh but someone had tried to patch him up.The smell of the disinfectant cream that was slathered all over the cut was enough to put off any hunger Simon might have felt at the scent of fresh blood. No one wanted to eat something that smelled of disinfectant.

Simon was surprised to see Al, who, surprise surprise, was also hurt, with a hug bruise blooming across his cheek. Simon felt pretty safe in saying he had absolutely no idea what was going on. He couldn’t see where Raphael was hurt, but he could still smell the blood.

“What’s going on?” was what Simon went with, figuring it was best to just get to the bottom of it. 

Simon’s Spanish, while still not great, had been improving with his time spent in the diner, so he had no problem understanding the numerous curses coming out of Manuel’s mouth as he shrugged Raphael’s hand off his shoulder. Simon watched as he stalked deeper into the kitchen, still having no idea what the original problem was.

“Manny and Barbara were on their way to the diner today,” Raphael started, brushing back his hair only for it to fall back into his eyes. The way it made Simon heart jump didn’t mean he missed the scrapes on Raphael’s knuckles. “Some Irish assholes started catcalling Barbara. Manny and Babs were talking back back and it got a little heated. Al heard them and ended up going outside to see what was up and it was just a lot of shit talking, you know how it is.”

Unfortunately, Simon did. He used to think teenagers in the future were bad, the way groups of fifteen/sixteen year olds seemed to always be able to pick out what you were most insecure about and tease you. It was pretty much the same principle in the ‘50′s but ramped up to a hundred. When you saw a group of teens in leather jackets hanging around you could be next to certain that a few of them had knives and would be willing to use them if they felt insulted.

Raphael glanced cautiously at Manuel before he continued. “And then that O’Leary kid put his hand up her skirt.”

That revelation was punctuated by Manuel slamming a cupboard door closed and muttering “ _pinche gringo_ ” under his breath.

Al, ever helpful, turned to Simon. “He said - “

“Yeah, I got the gist of it, thanks,” Simon said to him, though not unkindly. He supposed it was nice of him to remember the fact Simon wasn’t fluent when emotions were running so high. Also, that bruise on his cheek looked pretty bad. Simon was a little worried he might have a concussion, and he knew from personal experience how much that sucked.

Plus, while Simon was firmly in the _make love not war_ camp, he didn’t blame the two boys one bit for fighting that kid, considering what he did, and it was clear Raphael thought the same from the expression on his face. 

“One of his friends jumped in to help him, but the rest went running off to find his older cousin, Duncan. I pulled these two off of them just before he got there,” he said with what sounded like regret.

Al snickered. “Not without you getting a punch in first though.” That explained the knuckles.

“Long story short, I talked it out with the cousin and it’s done,” Raphael continued like Al hadn’t spoken.

“Just like that?!” Manuel demanded, still seething. It sounded like an argument they’d already had. “He needs to learn he can’t just go around putting his hands up girls’ skirts!”

“What, you want it to keep going back and forth between them and us so more people can get hurt? Until it gets so bad the police get involved? We all know whose side they would take if that happened,” Raphael replied, his voice level even though his anger was obvious. 

Manuel was a big guy, but Simon knew he had only recently turned 16 and it was clear Raphael telling him off had an effect, even though he was only 2 years older.

But Raphael’s anger was directed at the O’Leary boy, not Manny. Simon hated the little inappropriate voice in the back of his head that found it kind of hot how much Raphael cared for everyone at the diner. Simon felt it too though, that surge of protectiveness, that desire to look out for - well, there was no other word for it - his clan. 

Raphael was only trying to protect Manuel from the threat of retaliation or from the police. However, as Simon knew personally what with the standing kill order on him, no one hurt the people Raphael cared about without a little suffering to show for it.

“But if the tires of the kid’s car happened to get slashed a few days from now, when everything has quieted down and no one would suspect anything from us,” Raphael said carfeully, “I don’t see how it could hurt.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Simon felt like laughing. There was the vampire clan leader that Simon knew and - well, not _loved_ , obviously, because he’d only known him how long? Well, a few months, actually, during which time he’d brought Simon back to life, trained him as a vampire, trusted him as adviser, trusted him as a friend now in the 1950′s and - Simon knew he wouldn’t be acting this ridiculous if it wasn’t for his stupid crush. Or the smell of Raphael’s untainted blood filling his nostrils.

Manuel looked at Raphael, seeming grateful and satisfied with his decision all at once. “Good.”

“That’s not to leave this room, got it?” Raphael said, looking at Manuel and Al before glancing at Simon to confirm. The thought that Raphael trusted him with this spread a strange heat grow through his chest.

“Go on.” Raphael sighed. “Happy said to go home and clean yourselves up. Check in on Barbara and see if she’s okay. But don’t do anything without talking to me first, alright?”

Manny nodded and Al slapped Raphael on the shoulder before saying, “See you,” to both him and Simon. Simon watched them leave, noticing how Manny was treading lightly on his left leg.

The kitchen seemed almost too silent with them gone. Tuesdays weren’t very busy at the diner and only Raphael, Al and Manny had been penciled in for the evening shift that day.

It also meant the smell of Raphael’s blood was quickly invading Simon’s senses.

“Why didn’t you put anything on those cuts?” Simon said, whirling around to face him, not liking the way his fangs started to sting his gums.

“What?” Raphael said bluntly, still looking at the door the two boys had left from. 

Simon held up his own hand and tapped his knuckles. He wondered if Raphael was already planning something.

“Oh,” he said, glancing at the cuts. “I was more focused on stopping Manny running out of here and doing something he’d regret. I’ll be fine.”

Simon didn’t doubt that, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t worry. “Okay, but I’m also happy to stand here and annoy you until you look after your hand, which, just in case you hadn’t realized before, I’m pretty good at. Something to do with the way I ramble on and on and on without end about the most meaningless things, altogether I've heard that it’s really quite irritating and - hey, did I tell you about that Batman comic I -”

Raphael pulled the first aid kit down from a shelf with a roll of his eyes.

“You’ll thank me for it when your cuts don’t get infected.” _And when I don’t try to bite you because your blood smelled so good_ , Simon thought, but kept that little detail to himself.

He was also still thinking about what had happened, how defensive Raphael had been of the people he saw as family. Simon realized with a jolt that he had been on the opposite side of that when he freed Camille and put the clan at risk. He had been the enemy. As he watching Raphael struggle to wrap a linen bandage around his hand, Simon decided he’d never hurt Raphael like that again.

“Let me help,” Simon said with a sigh, “If I have to watch you fumble with that clip one more time, I'm going to lose it.” As if by magic, Raphael dropped the clip that was meant to attach the bandage together. He muttered a curse in Spanish, one Simon hadn’t heard before.

“Hey, that one’s new,” he said, picking the clip up from where it fell on to the kitchen worktop. With all the attempts at fastening it, the bandages had come loose, so Simon gently began to unwind them to redo the whole thing.

Raphael huffed in amusement. “You sure? I’m nearly certain Manny said it earlier, along with just about every other swear word in the entire language.”

Simon let out a laugh, but he was careful not to jostle Raphael’s injured hand. “I’ll be fluent in cursing in no time.”

“My mamá would kill me if she thought you’d learnt all that from us,” Raphael said, watching as Simon applied more disinfectant cream. He let out a hiss as it touched the cuts.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve also learned the word for most of the kitchen implements, seeing as how Al always seems to forget where he puts them and ends up running around looking for them most of the time.” Simon started to wrap the bandages again. “And besides, if she asked, I’d blame the cursing on Manny.”

Raphael didn’t reply and Simon was glad. It was already far too much, holding Raphael’s hand in his as he carefully wound the bandage round and round his knuckles. His hands were surprisingly soft for someone who worked so hard and Simon found he liked how Raphael’s skin felt under his own guitar-calloused fingertips. 

“Though, if we’re being fair, we can’t put all the blame on Manny,” Simon said, his nerves taking over, not having planned on saying “we” until he’d already said it and found he liked how it sounded.

“No?” Raphael asked quietly. Simon stayed focused on his hand, not daring to look up.

“No,” Simon repeated. “When I was a kid, my mom and dad would swear in Spanish so that my sister and I wouldn’t know what they were saying. Didn’t work, of course.”

He chuckled. “I have the most inconsistent knowledge of Spanish ever. Cursing, kitchen implements and a few songs.”

Again, Raphael said nothing but Simon was standing so close to the other boy he could practically feel the warmth coming off of him and his nervousness won out, so he continued.

“My dad would sing to us all the time. I loved it. But when he died…” Simon was almost finished wrapping the bandages and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get away from Raphael as fast as possible or get closer.

“My mom stopped speaking Spanish. My sister and I only knew how to say general things, but we stopped as well. I was only six, so when I stopped speaking it, I eventually forget most of it. Or I made myself forget. It was just easier that way.”

Simon secured the bandage with the clip and made to move away but Raphael put his uninjured hand on his arm to stop him.

“Thank you,” he said after a few seconds. “For my hand. And for trusting me enough to tell me that.”

Finally, Simon looked up and made eye contact with him. Raphael’s warm brown eyes seemed gentle and, like everything about Raphael, Simon found he liked it a little too much.

“I - “ Raphael began, before he was interrupted by Antonella opening the kitchen door.

“Simon, we need you out here, some kid spilled their coke everywhere.”

And back out the door she went. Simon had almost forgotten that the whole diner was out there. Raphael patted his arm brusquely and moved away. Simon had thought they were having a Moment, capital M, but wishful thinking could really screw up perception.

“Another time then,” he said, sounded closed off.

“Yeah,” Simon replied lamely before going out to clean up the kid’s mess. He belatedly realized his crush had just gone past the point of no return. Great. He’d been so happy about finally getting over Clary only to get what felt like a smack in the face by a crush on someone equally as unattainable. 

Yeah, because being trapped in thee past didn't make his life difficult enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alberto Rosende who plays Simon is Latino and I hope it's clear here that Simon and his family are too. I'm pretty sure I read that the actress who plays his mom is Caribbean and we never see his dad so it can work. 
> 
> Also I've seen people write Raphael as part of a gang when he was younger, and if that's what you want to write then by all means do so I'm not going to try police anyone, but I personally feel like Raphael wouldn't be into that kind of thing because he wouldn't want to worry his mom and he'd want to set a good example for his brothers. Buuuut he's still a little shit who wouldn't let anyone get away with hurting the people he cares about so it's tire slashing time ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> And just in case anyone wants to get smart about me using Irish people, I'm Irish, so please hold off.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. It's been a while. And just to warn you now, I never said this fic wasn't going to get a little cheesy. Because, oh boy, does it go there in this chapter.
> 
> I haven't read through it yet (it's been so long since I updated I just wanted to get it up), but I'll read through and fix any mistakes tomorrow.

“Watch it,” the giant werewolf grunted at Simon in warning, despite the fact he was the one not looking where he was going.

But the werewolf was working security at this place and in the interest of keeping a low profile, Simon figured he should offer up a “Sorry, man,” before moving on.

It wasn’t truly the werewolf’s fault though. The entire hall was packed to the brim with Downworlders. At least that would help him keep his incognito status.

He tucked the necklace under his shirt, making sure it was completely hidden. He certainly wasn’t wearing any enchanted jewelry that protected him from demons. Nope, he was just your average, run-of-the-mill vampire checking out a particularly shifty dance hall for Downworlders.

Because shifty Downworlder dance halls were a thing, apparently.

And this one was on Magnus’ list.

It wasn’t Simon’s first time checking the place out since he got Magnus’ list, but he was really hoping it would be his last. The only reason this place was on the list was because the person who set it up was also using it to move Warlock supplies that leaned a little toward the illegal side of the law. Such as human teeth. Simon forced himself not to think about it too deeply.

He hadn’t seen Bernard around yet, but it had only been a few days. He had been scoping out the locations regularly and had even been able to cross a few off the list (vampires definitely weren’t allowed in werewolf clubs, but then again, neither were warlocks).

Simon accidentally made eye contact (eye socket contact?) with a human skull lying on a table of discount items and decided it was time to go. The black market part of the dance hall only opened for an hour on Wednesdays and the hour was nearly at an end. They wouldn’t let any more people in, so he couldn’t realistically see Bernard showing up.

He might also have been counting down the minutes to when he’d get to see Raphael again, but not in an embarrassing way. He had overheard a joke today that was so bad it was sure to make the other boy laugh, even if it was just at what an idiot Simon was for thinking it was funny.

Okay, so maybe it was a little embarrassing. But it would be worth it to see him smile.

And wow, that was goofy even for him to think. He was going to blame it on the overall weirdness of the black market dance hall. He felt like the skull was still looking at him as he exited the building. Seriously weird.

 

…..

 

“Okay, okay, so I heard a good joke today,” Simon began, glancing up at Happy, counting the cash from the register before his eyes darted to Raphael, who was refilling the straws.

“Yeah? Where’d you hear this one?” Happy asked in a fond tone that came from knowing whenever Simon called a joke good he meant it was so bad it was funny.

“Walking by a building site,” he told the older man.

“Wow, really? I can’t wait to hear it,” Raphael deadpanned. It was just the three of them in the diner. It was officially closed for the night, the shutters drawn down, but the three of them were just finishing sorting out the place for the next day.

“Hey, I’ll have you know, this is top tier comedy.”

Raphael had his back to him, so he sensed rather than saw the eye roll.

Simon cleared his throat.

“So once upon a time, there was a horse called Mario. An Italian stallion, if you will,” he paused for effect. Happy granted him with a huff of a laugh and then Simon continued.

“Mario was a bit of a dreamer, real head in the clouds type. But his biggest dream was to be a rock star. This dream was hindered by a few things, like the fact he was a horse, but mostly because the farmer who owned him was completely against animals pursuing careers, especially outside of the farm. But Mario worked hard and taught himself to play guitar.”

“Are you serious right now?” Raphael said, turning around to face Simon, eyebrows arched and judgmental.

“Just wait, you’re gonna love it,” Simon said, barely holding back a grin as he thought of the punchline. He continued.

“So Mario got all the farm animals together, Mary the pig, Patrick the chicken and James the sheep. They decided to rebel against their tyrant farmer and they created a band of their own, all of them learning to play instruments with Mario on vocals and lead guitar.

They were signed to a label immediately, what with the novelty of an all animal band. Their first single was number one for weeks. They toured all over America, where Mario met a lovely little horse and got married. Soon, she was pregnant and Mario and his wife were over the moon. They named Mary the pig godmother.”

“Please tell me it’s almost over,” Raphael complained as Happy nodded in consensus.

“Don’t rush brilliance,” Simon shot back. “So -”

He was interrupted once again, but this time it was by someone banging on the door to the diner. Happy frowned. The diner was very obviously closed, with graffiti covered metal shutters pulled over the windows. His eyes flickered to Simon and Raphael before moving to answer the door.

 His shoulders relaxed when he opened the door and obviously recognized the man.

“Cisco, _qué pasa_ , we’re closed.”

“It’s Junior,” the man who must be Cisco answered, sounding out of breath. “The kids were out playing soccer and he took a bad fall. Looks like the leg is broken, Gloria said.”

Happy cursed under his breath.

“They’re on their way up to the clinic now,” Cisco added.

“I’ll meet them up there,” Happy said with a nod. He dug around in his pockets before fishing out a set of keys and tossing them to Raphael. “Lock the place up for me?”

“Sure,” Raphael replied. “Hope your boy’s okay.”

Happy nodded in thanks before hurrying out the door. 

Raphael must have been able to sense Simon’s concern because he said, “He’ll be alright, it’s just that he’s on the school soccer team and he’s going to be pretty upset that he can’t play in the next few games.”

Simon was glad to hear it wasn’t anything too serious. 

“At least he’ll be okay. Can’t really relate though, because much like Mario the Italian stallion, I always leaned more towards music than sport,” Simon joked.

Raphael groaned at the mention of Mario.

“Where was I?” Simon mused, ignoring Raphael’s impatience. “Oh yeah, so Mario is about to have a little baby horse with his wife. But first Mario and the band have to go a business meeting in England. Now, mid meeting, he gets the phone call that the baby’s coming. So what does he do? Hops on the first flight back to America, of course.

So he arrives at the hospital, bursts into the delivery room, but what does he see? Only his wife holding another horse’s hand!”

“Horses don’t have hands to hold. And how does he play guitar with hooves?” 

“Don’t be pedantic,” Simon said, trying hard not to look at the little grin on Raphael’s lips. For the joke to work, he had to be fully focused on the delivery, not staring at Raphael Santiago’s unfairly appealing lips.

“So it turns out the baby’s not his, that his wife has been cheating on him all along. Mario is heartbroken, understandably. He calls up the band and they decide to fly over to try cheer him up. But the plane explodes over the Atlantic and the whole band dies.

Mario is miserable, and even though he swore he’d never become one of those drunk horses you see all around the place, he decides to go to a bar to drown his sorrows. So he walks into the bar, and the bartender sees him and goes, “Hey, buddy, why the long face?””

The cold, almost angry look on Raphael’s face made Simon laugh far more than the joke itself was worth.

“Minutes. Several whole minutes of my life I’m never getting back. Wasted,” Raphael hissed at him. But Simon could see the smile he was trying to fight back.

“That’s why it’s so funny,” Simon insisted. Raphael shook his head at him in mock disappointment. “It is -”

Raphael made eye contact before turning on the radio to tune Simon out.

He laughed again as Raphael turned the dial on the radio, searching for a station he was happy with. He flicked between talk shows until a loud burst of guitar music came through the radio. He seemed to approve of it as he left the radio and walked over to the counter to refill the salt shakers.

Simon wasn’t letting him off that easy.

“Raphael Santiago, I am horrified! Rock ‘n’ roll music! The depravity!” Simon said in a shrill tone he’d overheard many older people in the ‘50′s use when talking about rock ‘n’ roll music. 

That got a smile out of Raphael and Simon felt a certain warmth in his chest that made him keep going.

“Everyone knows what that Presley man calls dancing is just pure sinful!”  He had learned a lot from his time in the ‘50′s, such as how it didn’t matter what trends or music young people were interested in, the older generation at large would dislike it on principle.

Simon tried to recall how the other teenagers were dancing at the bowling alley and decided a demonstration was called for. He wiggled his hips in a terrifying meld of Elvis and Beyoncé.

The laugh burst out of Raphael like he couldn’t help it. Simon’s smile was so big his cheeks hurt.

“You gonna show me the right way to do it or not? You did say all I needed was a good teacher,” Simon reminded him, hoping Raphael would take the proposal as friendly banter, even though Simon’s feelings were a little more than friendly.

“I take it back. After that, I don’t think there’s any hope for you,” Raphael said, still snickering.

“Guess I’ll just have to practice on my own then,” Simon said with an over exaggerated huff. Then, even more ridiculously this time around, he wiggled hips and tried to roll them in a circle. Oh, he was fully aware he was making a fool of himself but he didn’t care as Raphael laughed again.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll help,” Raphael said, throwing his hands up in surrender, obvious mirth in his voice. “Just promise me never to do that again.”

Simon beamed at him.

“Just relax,” Raphael said, moving away from the counter and towards Simon. “Start off easy; just go from side to side.”

“Okay,” Simon said, slowly shifting his hips from left to right. “Okay, I think I’m getting it.”

Raphael stood a few feet in front of him, watching him critically. “Well, it’s not worse than what you were doing before.”

Simon shot him a glare and Raphael grinned back.

“I’m just kidding. Now hold your arms out, like you’re holding a partner, and step forward with your right - no, keep moving your hips as you do it,” Raphael corrected him. Simon really was trying and under the circumstances, he thought he was doing okay. He was proud of himself for not yet falling on his face in front of his crush, because such a thing would be just typical with the way his life had been going the last few weeks.

“Again. No, not so stiff - like this,” Raphael said, then demonstrated, stepping forward and then back, his hips moving fluidly. Simon was real glad being undead messed with your blood pressure, because otherwise the blood would have rushed right to his face. It was one thing watching him dance in a group of people, but when it was just the two of them, his crush hit Simon like a Serena William’s fast ball.

Unfortunately, it hit him mid-step and he stumbled. More accurately; he was too busy looking at Raphael instead of where he was putting his feet. Raphael grabbed him forearm and steadied him.

They met eyes for a moment. Raphael still hadn’t let go of his arm. It hit Simon that they were completely alone in the restaurant. 

“You’re the only person I know who could trip over air,” Raphael said to Simon, shaking his head in amusement. 

Then, instead of moving away like Simon thought he would, he took a step forward. 

Raphael rested one hand on his shoulder and loosely joined the other hand with Simon’s own. Something in his chest jumped when he realized they were in a dancing posture. There was still a foot of space between them, but Simon thought he was going to become the first vampire in history to suffer a heart attack.

“Forward,” Raphael said, a little quieter but otherwise seemingly oblivious. Simon shuffled forward, unable to disobey but too caught up in being this close to Raphael to properly try. He could see the tangle of Raphael’s thick eyelashes, the scar on his cheek. 

Raphael rolled his eyes. He wasn’t a very patient teacher, that much Simon already knew.

 “Take a proper step. Now - back.” He put his hand on Simon’s chest and pushed gently to ensure Simon did the step properly. Raphael seemed happier with it and they repeated those two steps, dancing slower than the music, almost like they couldn’t hear it.

“1 and 2,” Raphael counted in time with their movement.

Raphael’s hand still rested against Simon’s sternum, but as his arm between them relaxed, the distance between them gradually shrinking with each step.

Simon, needing to ground himself somehow, focused on Raphael’s hands. The one on his chest that seemed to radiate warmth throughout his entire body and the one entwined with his own, both of them loose grips. That almost made it harder to bear, the light brush of Raphael’s hand against his, not completely there, but just enough that Simon felt he would die if he didn’t get more.

“That was good,” Raphael said softly as they came to an eventual halt. Simon didn’t trust his voice in that moment. 

Instead he just moved forward. Raphael, thinking they were continuing in the dance, followed his lead and stepped back. But Simon quickly stepped forward again, closer than he should have dared. This time, Raphael didn’t move.

The music on the radio was slowing down, until it finally drifted off.

The only sound to be heard was the _thump thump thump_ of a heart, though whether it was his or Raphael’s, Simon wasn’t sure. Still, he summoned up what ever little bit of courage he could find and reached up, resting his hand on the juncture between Raphael’s neck and shoulder. He could feel him breathing, feel the quickening beat of his heart.

Their faces were so close he could feel the tickle of Raphael breath against his skin.

Raphael stayed completely motionless, though his eyes tracked Simon’s every twitch. After what seemed like an eternity, he moved, tilting his head up to compensate for the extra inch or so that Simon had on him. He looked straight into Simon’s eyes, questioning, challenging. 

“Simon?” he said, is voice quiet and rough.

Simon let out the breath he was holding. They were going to kiss. He was going to kiss Raphael. 

If only it had been that easy.

He breathed in to steady himself, but it had the opposite effect. The scent of sulfur washed over him. Simon, completely besotted, needed a second to put it together. 

The smell of sulfur meant demons.

How was there a demon near the diner? Had it followed him? Wasn’t Magnus’ enchanted necklace meant to stop it from doing exactly that?

Simon blinked and refocused on Raphael, standing in front of him, waiting. He couldn’t let the demon hurt him. He had to lure it away.

“Raphael,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, even as he moved back from Raphael.

The effect was instantaneous. The muscles of Raphael’s neck tensed under Simon’s hand before Raphael shrugged him off completely. 

“It’s not like that -” Simon said, panicking, realizing what Raphael thought. The scent was getting stronger, the demon coming closer. 

Simon tried to reach out for him but Raphael put distance between them, stepping back and leaning on the diner counter for support, his face hard.

“Get out,” Raphael spat in his direction, his nostrils flared.

At this point Simon reached out with his vampire senses. Not only could he smell the demon, but it was so close he could hear it coming, the scratch of its claws on the pavement. If it was looking for him, it would destroy anything in its way, be it the diner’s metal shutters or Raphael.

There was no time left.

“I’m sorry,” he said desperately. Raphael wouldn’t meet his eyes. Simon darted out the door on to the street, regret settling in his stomach like a stone.


	9. Chapter 9

Simon didn’t dare look over his shoulder as he ran down the empty street. At least, he really hoped it was empty, or even just too dark for any ordinary people to see a teenage boy in a leather jacket running at super speed away from the terrifying clawed monster that was chasing him.

Every nerve in his body screamed at him to go back to Raphael, but Simon had to swallow the guilt. Raphael’s safety was more important. Which was why he was leading the demon as far away from the diner as possible.

His feet hit the pavement hard with every stride. He was panting, his lungs burning with effort. He knew in the back of his mind that it wasn’t necessary, but it was an automatic reaction left over from his time alive. Even over his loud breathing, he could hear the demon fast approaching. 

The only thing he could think was that it sounded big.

Shit.

The other demon he faced was weak and not properly summoned, making it possible for Simon, a mostly-untrained fledgling, to defeat it. But if this demon was the real deal, Simon would be in serious trouble.

He realized he was running to the warehouse where he was sleeping and forced himself to take a sharp right and change directions. He had a lot on his mind, but he wasn’t stupid enough to lead a demon back to his home base.

He heard the demon skid before righting itself. So it was big, but not too agile. Good. Simon would take anything at this point. 

He was trying to piece together some form of attack. There was no way he was going to lose the demon; in fact, it was gaining on him.

The thundering sounds of the demon’s feet hitting the street was disrupted. Simon only had a fraction of a second to wonder why before it hooked a leg around his own and swept the feet out from under him. His head hit the pavement with a crack.

He could feel the back of his head grow wet with blood, but it was no time to get squeamish. Despite his body’s protests, he rolled quickly to the side, narrowly avoiding a swipe of the demon’s claws.

The demon readjusted itself and took aim again. Simon tried to dodge once more, but he was a just little too slow. 

The demon’s claws grazed his face, splitting the skin on his cheekbone and above his eyebrow. Simon couldn’t help the howl of pain that came out of him. The wounds stung like acid.

It was only when Simon stumbled to his feet that he realized the demon’s claws must have secreted a poison. With each step his feet grew heavier and he knew he had no hope of avoiding the demon this time around.

This theory was soon confirmed when the demon hit him and he flew into the wall of a building, shattering the red bricks and going straight through.

A prayer wouldn’t have been inappropriate, but since being Turned, he hadn’t been able to say any. All he could think was _please don’t let me die here_. His mom’s face flashed through his mind, his sister’s, Clary’s, his other friends in 2016 that needed his help. Raphael’s face in the diner, an empty mask that might be unreadable to anyone else. His face again, but from 2016, cold, hard anger etched into his features. 

Simon blinked, trying to focus, but his entire world was spinning. He could hear the demon stalking towards him, the smell of sulfur filling his nostrils. He had to move, but he was so tired. It would be so easy just to close his eyes and fall asleep…

And then a blinding light illuminated the demon’s silhouette. It made Simon’s eyes water, so he shut them. Hmm, that was better, and now that his eyes eyes closed, he could just let himself drift off to sleep.

“Simon!”

Simon let out a groan. He just wanted to sleep for a little while longer, it wasn’t like he was going to skip school. Why was his mom always so loud in the mornings?

“Simon! Wake up!” A cold hand grabbed Simon’s chin. Simon blinked up at the face of Magnus Bane hovering over him.

“You’re not my mom,” he said intelligently. 

“I should hope not,” Magnus snarked back, but Simon thought he heard a little relief in the Warlock’s voice.

“But why are you - The demon!” Simon remembered suddenly, recoiling away from Magnus in a ridiculous attempt to escape the area where he last saw the demon. On moving, he felt a stab of pain that started in his brain and then traveled the whole way down his body.

“Ow,” was all he managed.

“Ow indeed,” Magnus said, reaching out towards Simon’s face. If Simon had more energy, he would have flinched back again, but when Magnus’ cold hand rested on his forehead, he felt a wave of peace wash over him, and then nothing.

 

…

 

When Simon woke up, the birds were singing, the sun was shining and his head felt like someone had taken a hammer to it. He grimaced at the pain, but that only brought more as it stretched the skin around the cuts on his face.

The events before he passed out came to him with another pang of pain. 

“Magnus?” he tried to call out, but it sounded a lot more like “Mmuhmns?”

“Good morning, sunshine,” Magnus said in a sin song voice, seemingly appearing out of midair. 

“Please, just don’t. It’s too early and I’m in too much pain,” he tried to say, but it sounded a lot more like “Puhhhn.”

“Back to sleep for you, I think,” Magnus said loftily, before Simon felt his cool hand on his forehead once again.

The next time Simon woke up, he felt a lot more in control of his body, and also significantly less pain. Magnus must have been monitoring him somehow becuase once again the Warlock appeared suddenly.

“Two hundred and twenty five plus one hundred and eight?” he asked without any preamble.

“Uh… Three hundred and thirty three?” Simon replied, unsure of where this was going. He took in his surroundings and realized he must be in Magnus’ place. There certainly weren’t any luxury velvet sofas in his warehouse.

“Just making sure you’re fully here,” Magnus said, sitting down on a stool beside him. Simon pushed himself up on the sofa so he’d be eye level with him, which, once more, caused a shooting pain in his skull.

“Again with the concussions? Really?” Simon mumbled to himself. 

“Drink this.”

Magnus held a cup full of blood under Simon’s nose and basically shoved the straw into his mouth. With the scent of blood in the air, Simon’s ability to think became nonexistent. He gulped the blood down hungrily and ended up holding the straw to the side so he could drain the blood straight from the cup. When he was done, Magnus took the cup back.

“Have more,” he insisted, refilling it with a snap of his fingers, “You’ll heal much faster.” Still hungry, though not uncontrollably so, Simon decided to make use of the straw.

“Hang on,” Simon said in between sips, having remembered something. “That necklace you gave me must be broken, because the demon could sense me alright. Enough to follow my scent anyway.”

Magnus’ eyes flickered down to the floor before they returned to Simon’s face. “Right. Well. Simon…”

“What?”

Magnus glanced away again and Simon recognized the emotion written all over his face. It was well hidden, but it was guilt.

“Magnus,” Simon began, pretty sure he already knew the answer to what he was about to ask. “Was the necklace enchanted at all?””

Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, yes, but -”

“ - But not the way you told me.”

“No,” he answered, the regret clear in his voice. “I can explain why I lied, Simon, but you have to believe me, I never intended for you to get hurt, especially not so badly.”

“Well, that’s nice, but it’s not going to cure my concussion,” Simon snapped at him, confused and annoyed. If he knew the necklace was useless, he’d have taken more care with his search for Bernard. “Or the cut on my face. How long was I out for anyway?” he asked, the anger still obvious in his voice.

“Nearly two days,” Magnus answered guiltily. “You were poisoned pretty badly. I had to reapply a cherry seed poultice to your open wounds every few hours, but it’s going to be a while before the poison is fully out of your system and the cuts can heal.” 

The way he said it, it didn’t sound like bragging or “you owe me your life” but like he had truly been worried. That melted Simon’s anger a little, but it didn’t make the answer any less surprising.

“Two days?” Simon exclaimed.

“Almost,” Magnus replied, glancing away once again

Simon felt the panic rise in his chest. Two days? That meant he missed his shift at the diner yesterday and, worst case scenario, Raphael was thinking it because of what happened between them. Actually, change that to most likely scenario, because that’s certainly what Simon would think if he was in Raphael’s position.

Simon stood up in a flash. It made his head spin, but he was so used to living with a concussion at this point that he just brushed it off.

“Simon,” Magnus said, standing up too. “Let me explain.”

“Oh, you will,” Simon reassured him, glancing around Magnus’ apartment. He spotted his jacket draped over the back of dining chair. “But it’ll have to be later.”

Simon was disappointed to find a small rip in the arm o his jacket, but other than that, it was in good condition after his brawl with the demon. He shrugged the jacket on slowly, going easy on his sore body.

“But there’s something I have to fix first.”

 

…

 

The shutters were pulled down over the diner’s windows, but through the frosted glass of the door, he could see a silhouette standing at the counter, back to the door. He knew beyond a doubt it was Raphael. Simon held back a flinch when the bell above the door chimed as he entered.

Raphael half turned around at the sound, but when he heard Simon’s quiet, “Hey,” he froze for a fraction of a second before returned to his former position, with his back facing Simon. Oh, this was bad alright.

The half second of silence was suffocating. After another second, Raphael said, “Oh. It’s you.”

Simon hated the way it sounded, completely uncaring, but not in Raphael’s usual, humorous “I’m too cool to care” tone, but like Simon was a stranger to him.

“Let me explain,” he said, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. He could understand why Raphael would act this way, but it hurt. It hurt most of all to know he caused this.

“Explain what?” Raphael’s voice was still level. The knives and forks in his hands clashed off each other as he wrapped them in napkins, then tossed them into a little plastic basket on his right hand side. The harsh sound rang in Simon’s ears. Raphael was going to act like there was nothing between them.

Every move Raphael had made the other day, every time he touched Simon, was feather light, almost not there. It was plausible deniability. 

“You mean explain why you didn’t come in yesterday?” Raphael continued, his back still to Simon. “Happy’s been going home early to keep an eye on Junior, so I covered for you and said you came in. But I’m not going to do it again.” Raphael emphasized the point by throwing a knife and fork bundle into the basket a little harder than was really necessary.

Simon wasn’t going to go along with this game. He knew what happened the other day. He was going to kiss Raphael and Raphael was going to _let him_. And now Raphael was standing in front of him, so willing to accept his perceived rejection. It killed Simon.

“Raphael,” he said earnestly, ducking under the counter in an effort to be face to face with Raphael, despite how the other boy seemed set against it.

All that time when Simon was in love with Clary, he had thought, _I just need one chance, just one shot to show her how good we could be together_. He had a chance with Raphael now, and like hell was he going to give up on that chance just because of some stupid demon with poor timing.

“It was stupid, Raphael,” he said, coming to stand in front of Raphael, who seemed more intent on the knives and forks than ever. He hoped more than anything that Raphael would seize on Simon admitting how stupid his actions were and would start teasing him like he always did. But he said nothing.

“I freaked out and I ran,” Simon continued. He felt an all too familiar twinge of guilt when he lied, but there was no way around that one. It was a better excuse than “big evil demon with a taste for tenderized vamp”.

“Simon,” Raphael said with an annoyed sigh before he finally raised his head to look Simon in the face. Simon waited expectantly for the rest, but Raphael just frowned, a crease forming between his brows.

“What happened to you?”

“I just freaked out, Raphael,” Simon repeated. He really hoped Raphael wouldn’t want a more in depth explanation, because Simon didn’t think he had it in him to flesh out this pretend sexuality crisis. He stood by the fact that he was great at cover stories, but not so much on the details after getting thrown head first through a wall.

“I meant what happened to your face, _idiota_.” Raphael’s tone was harsh and his face was incredulous, but Simon could see the concern in the tightness of his mouth and the slight frown between his eyebrows.

“Oh. Oh yeah. My face.” Simon reached up to poke at the cuts on his cheekbone and above his eye and hissed at the pain. It was strange how quickly he had gotten used to vampire healing that it seemed weird to have a cuts and scrapes that didn’t immediately heal. He went to poke them again.

Raphael batted his hand away from his face. “Don’t mess at them.”

“Right, of course. So I was mugged. Yesterday. Which is why I didn’t come in. And why I have these cuts.”

Wow, Simon was really on a roll with these cover stories, concussed or not.

“I would have come in though. Like if I wasn’t mugged. I wanted to come in so we could, like, _talk_ ,” Simon continued, pretty proud of himself.

Raphael, on the other hand, looked fairly unimpressed, one eyebrow raised in judgement. He held eye contact for a few seconds, his face completely still. Then he sighed.

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing at one of the stools beside him at the counter. Simon eagerly ducked back under the counter and plonked on to the stool, glad they were getting somewhere, when Raphael himself ducked under the counter and walked straight into the kitchen. Simon almost worried, but then he returned a second later with the first aid kit.

Raphael came to stand in front of him, opening the first aid kit and laying it out on the stool beside Simon. Without any preamble, he smeared the antiseptic cream on a cotton pad and then put it on the cut above Simon’s eyebrow. It took everything Simon had to keep in a little squeal at the sudden cold.

Raphael put more cream on a fresh cotton pad to apply to the cut on Simon’s cheek, and Simon knew he had to say something.

“Thank you for this.”

“I owe you for my hand from that other time,” Raphael said, attempting to be casual. 

Simon knew from Raphael’s responses that he wasn’t being clear enough, but he was so used to unrequited feelings that the thought of openly admitting his feelings to Raphael made an invisible fist clench around his heart.

Raphael raised his hand to smear the cream on Simon’s cheekbone and Simon realized that because he was sitting down, they were the exact same height. Simon took a deep breath, trying to muster all the courage he could, and lifted his hand to hold Raphael’s against his cheek.

At least, that was what he wanted to do. The minute his own hand touched Raphael’s, Raphael suddenly ripped himself away from Simon and took a step backwards.

Simon’s heart plummeted. Had Raphael changed his mind about Simon? It was entirely possible, and that possibility made his chest tighten. 

Neither of them said a word. It was just Simon looking at him and Raphael looking in the vague direction of Simon’s feet.

“Look,” Raphael said eventually. With his eyes still downcast, he cleared his throat and said again, “Look. You’re right, it was stupid. If you want, we can pretend none of it ever happened.”

Simon suddenly wondered if the demon had had the gift of premonition and knew only Simon would say something so dumb for Raphael to misinterpret it and that’s why it decided to throw Simon at a wall. If that was the case, Simon didn’t blame the demon one bit.

But instead of all that, he just asked plainly, “Is that what you want?”

Raphael looked at him defiantly. “It’s what you want.”

He sounded so sure that it broke Simon’s heart a little.

“That’s not it, Raphael. You look out for every one else all the time, but you never - you’re allowed to have things too, you know. And you - if you want, well,  _something_ between me and you, you can have it. If you want, you can have me,” Simon let out a nervous chuckle, “You’ve had me for quite a while already, actually.”

Simon’s heart was beating at the speed of light and for one still moment, Simon wondered if he really said that out loud or just imagined it. Raphael’s eyes were wide and the step he took towards Simon seemed almost involuntary. He took another, smaller step, only inches away now. 

It was quick, a warm brush of their lips. Raphael pulled away, but stayed close enough that Simon could feel the heat radiating off his cheeks. Simon opened his eyes, desperate to see what Raphael looked like in that moment. 

It seemed Raphael had thought the same thing about Simon and as their eyes met, Simon couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Raphael was even more amazing this close, all flushed skin and warm eyes. His lips quirked upwards before he leaned in again. 

It was slower this time, but still gentle. While Raphael cupped Simon’s jaw with one hand, the other rested on his neck, his thumb brushing back and forth over the delicate skin there. Simon felt overwhelmed already, with Raphael’s scent, with his excited heart beat, with the sheer warmth of him that seemed to envelop Simon completely.

He couldn’t think past the need to touch, slowly dragging his hands up and down Raphael’s sides, over his shoulders, past his t-shirt sleeves to feel the hard muscles of his arms.

He wasn’t sure how long they were like that, holding on to each other, stopping for a short breath before following a trail of kisses back to the other’s lips. 

It escalated gradually. It seemed every second Raphael stopped to breathe, Simon’s need to touch him increased tenfold. He kissed along his jaw, feeling the scrape of his stubble under his lips.

But Raphael had no patience for Simon’s little exploration and cupped his chin to hold him still.

Simon tangled his fingers in the hair at the base of Raphael’s skull and the other boy surged forward. Simon, still sitting, opened his legs for Raphael to stand inside. Raphael continued pressing forward, until they were chest to chest. Simon’s hands gripped the small of his back, twisting in material of his t-shirt, intent on keeping him there and never letting go.

Alas, Raphael had a pesky need for oxygen that could no longer be satisfied by a few short breaths and he needed a minute. And Simon, well, he needed to slow things down a bit. Between his heightened senses and the fact he was making out with a gorgeous boy who also happened to be his crush, things were starting to get a little uncomfortable. 

In his defense, greaser jeans were pretty tight to begin with anyway.

They broke apart but stayed in each other’s space. 

Straight away, Simon’s mind began to race ahead. It was his first time kissing another guy, though he had certainly thought about it enough times before. Was it Raphael’s first time too? Oh no, what if he was freaking out?

He decided to to test the waters.

“So. That was… nice?” 

Immediately after the words left his mouth, Simon felt the overwhelming urge to run headlong into a wall.

“Meh,” Raphael said, sounding unimpressed, but there was a smile playing at his lips. Simon let out a noise of mock outrage and gave him a little shove, but not anything strong enough to put any actual distance between them. They both laughed, a release of leftover nervous energy.

“This is new for me,” Raphael admitted quietly when their laughter died down.

“I’ve kissed people before because, well, everyone else seemed to enjoy it, but I never really understood what was so great about it before,” he continued. 

Simon beamed at him, understanding the unspoken compliment and completely delighted by the fact Raphael Santiago was talking _feelings_ with him.

If anyone had told him this would happen a few months ago, he’d have laughed in their face. And also told them to keep their voice down in case Raphael heard them and wanted revenge because they dared to suggest he had feelings.

Raphael leaned in to kiss him again, quick like their first kiss but no less welcome, snapping Simon out of his mental tangent.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Raphael deadpanned.

Simon just grinned back at him, already too far gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be mad at Magnus, he'll explain himself in the next chapter!! Shoutout to Raphael being on the ace spectrum!! I'm so happy to finally put this chapter up!!
> 
> I'm so excited to get this chapter out but I just want to touch on something. Some people have mentioned the homophobia in the 50's to me but I just want to say I'm not going to go there. Neither Simon nor Raphael are going to be attacked for it, they're not going to be shunned by friends, they're not going to hate themselves because it goes against their religion, none of that stuff. The level of homophobia in the 50's was huge and truly awful and it's important not to forget that history or to try to rebrand it as "not that bad". That's not what I'm doing here. What I'm doing is being a non-straight girl who wants to write a cute, fluffy non-straight 50's love story without being constantly reminded of the homophobia that pervades our society and has done so for hundreds of years. I don't want to write a fic about characters suffering because of their sexuality because I see that happening to real people today. Basically if there gets to be fluffy 1950's AUs of straight couples I'm going to do the same for saphael. I'm not saying fics that do really address homphobia are bad, in fact I think those authors (especially if they're also not straight) are brave for doing it, but it's not for this fic. I just figured I should make this clear for any readers who thought I might be trying to erase the homophobia in the society of the time, but if anyone has any questions you can message me @frankcastlcs on tumblr.
> 
> But if anyone is still reading, I want to say thank you and I'll try get the next chapter up asap!! I promise lol


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to make sure there's no misunderstandings, after the first part, the chapter goes into a flashback of things that happened before Simon went back in time. So technically it's the future but it's Simon's past. I know it might seem weird to put a flashback there now in the middle of the story, but there's a lot of explaining in this chapter so I figured I should keep that stuff all together.

“Hey,” Raphael said, standing at the foot of the sofa booth. Simon turned to look at him with a smile on his face. It hadn’t even been 24 hours since the whole - the kissing thing, the reciprocated feelings thing, the “haven’t been able to stop smiling since” thing. 

“Hey,” Simon replied happily. “If I’d known you were finished early I would’ve ordered a milkshake.”

Raphael gave a small smile of his own. “I can’t hang around. I’ve got to go pick Luis and Eduardo up from their baseball, remember?”

“Oh, that summer sports camp thing? I forgot that was starting,” Simon said.

“Yeah, it started today. I, well, I just thought I’d say hi before I went,” Raphael said. Then he cleared his throat, his cheeks rapidly going red. “I better go.”

He didn’t move.

“Right. I’ll see you then,” Simon answered, unable to stop his smile from growing even bigger.

“Sure,” Raphael said, still standing in the same position. He grinned back at Simon like he couldn’t help it.

“Sure,” Simon repeated after him. 

“Right,” Raphael said, finally turning on his heel and leaving. 

Simon grinned at his hands in his lap, trying desperately to control his facial expressions and not to look like he was just sitting there smiling to himself.  His own shift started in a few minutes but he could have stayed where he was and thought about how Raphael smiled at him forever. Or for an embarrassing number of hours at least.

“Hey,” Raphael’s voice interrupted his thoughts, the man himself appearing at the end of the booth again. “You’re not working Sunday, are you?” 

“No, I’m not,” Simon said, his smile back to full force. The diner only opened for a few hours in the afternoon on a Sunday, so that the Christians could go to Mass in the morning. It meant there was always less staff working on Sunday.

“Do you want to come over to my house? On Sunday, I mean.” Raphael said the question so quickly that Simon was certain that without vampire hearing he would have missed it entirely.

He couldn’t judge though, because he replied almost as quickly. “Yeah, yes. That - uh, that sounds good.”

“Great,” Raphael said with a relieved smile.

“Great,” Simon agreed. Inside, he sort of wanted to bang his head against a wall repeatedly. It seemed he had suddenly forgot how to act like a person.

“You can come around at half 4, if you want? I know the boys will be happy to see you, and who knows, the twins might even be around,” Raphael said with a shrug. Simon had met Raphael’s younger twin brothers on the first day he had met the family, when he helped Luis get home, but he hadn’t seen them since. They were at that age were they were trying to be independent and act like they didn’t need their big brother looking out for them.

Simon only knew about that because of course Raphael had muttered angrily about it a number of different times.

“Half 4? Sure.”

“Okay,” Raphael nodded happily.

“Okay,” Simon said again.

Raphael rolled his eyes and leaned over to lightly punch Simon on the arm, fighting a smile in an effort to look exasperated with Simon’s failed attempts at human interaction. 

“Stop copying me.”

Simon, however embarrassed he was, couldn’t help but jump on the opportunity presented to him.

“Stop copy - “ 

“Don’t even,“ Raphael interrupted him and Simon had to laugh. Raphael shook his head, still trying to smother his smile.

“I’ll see you,” he said and actually left this time around. 

That evening, Simon was trying to talk some sense into himself. He was acting like a 13 year old with their first crush. He replayed the night before and that short conversation today over and over in his head and had to try not to laugh under his breath when he remembered Raphael getting embarrassed to ask him to his house on Sunday.

Needless to say, he was pretty much useless for his whole shift.

Even walking back to the cozy little warehouse he called home, he was totally zoned out. 

“Simon?” 

Simon jumped with fright. He was officially the worst vampire ever. He spun around and found Magnus Bane at the door of the warehouse. The warlock looked considerably less haute couture than usual, no makeup, plain clothes and a concerned look on his face.

“Magnus?”

“Hey, Simon. I figured I’d leave you alone last night, to give you some space, but I think we should talk. Sooner rather than later,” Magnus said, walking slowly towards Simon, as if he was wary of his reaction.

Simon blinked. He needed a second to readjust his mood and prepare himself for whatever Magnus had to say. Simon trusted that he had his reasons for what went down, but whatever they were, they worried Simon.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said, as amiably as he could, wanting to let Magnus know that he wasn’t planning on stabbing him in the back as soon as the Warlock let his guard down. 

Magnus nodded, like he understood what Simon was trying to convey. “My place?” he asked, his hands glowing as he started to conjure up a portal.

“Okay,” Simon said, stepping through it, trusting Magnus to follow.

 

 

…

 

 

Simon stood in the hallway at the Institute, staring at the wood paneling on the wall opposite him. He was starving, and even if Maryse Lightwood’s office wasn’t runed to prevent eavesdropping, he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate long enough to try and hear what she and Clary were shouting at each other.

Clary slammed the door as she left the office. That, he could hear all too clearly. Clary didn’t notice his wince at the sound, nor the second wince as she linked her arm with his. He really was hungry.

“We have to get you out of here,” she said, almost pulling him along.

Simon sighed. “I have nowhere to go, Clary.”

“There’s Luke.“

Simon stopped in his tracks, pulling Clary to a stop too. They were both new at this, but for everything the Shadowhunters were teaching her, they would never really be able to accurately tell her about Downworld politics.

“There’s no way his pack would let me live with him. They barely tolerated my visits to the Jade Wolf, and they were only at an hour or two at a time. There would be no way to convince them I wasn’t planning on turning around and killing Luke. He might be alpha but if he were to just completely disregard his pack’s concern’s - “

“It could cause dissent in the pack,” Clary realized.

Simon didn’t blame her for not seeing it earlier. He might have been slacking in his lessons on the Downworld with Raphael, but there was nothing like a bunch of angry werewolves in a takeaway restaurant to get you to read up on werewolf pack dynamics.

She stood there for a fraction of a second, completely motionless while her brain was speeding on ahead. Then her face light up.

“I have an idea.” She started marching towards the exit, Simon in tow once more.

It was early morning when they arrived at Magnus’ place. Simon, for his part, was completely on autopilot, not even glancing at his surroundings. Clary nudged him toward a sofa and asked to speak to Magnus privately. They walked away and Simon wasn’t paying enough attention to see where to.

Every inch of him was focused on battling the hunger inside him. He had shut down completely on the walk over, clamping his jaws shut for fear he’d open his mouth to say something and then wouldn’t be able to resist hurting his best friend.

Maybe Clary thought he was feeling sorry for himself, or guilty. But he had to push that train of thought away, because thinking of Clary led to him thinking of her neck and the life that pumped under that smooth skin.

He laid back into the sofa, trying to shut his body down, maybe fall asleep to forget the hunger. The last time he fed was over two days ago, a blood bag reluctantly given to him by a Shadowhunter whose disgust was plain to see. That’s why Maryse wasn’t happy, he remembered. They kept those blood bags around for blood transfusions for injured Shadowhunters, not to feed stray vampires.

Needless to say, Clary didn’t like that. And there he was thinking of Clary again, Clary who -

Clary who suddenly appeared in front of him.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, and left. Simon dazedly tried to get up off the sofa and follow after her, but his movements where groggy and she was already gone. 

Then Magnus put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down into the soft cushions.

“I understand that you’re the runaway vampire and whatnot, but you’re staying here.”

Simon was hungry and felt unsteady, but that was enough for him to wake up a little.

“I didn’t run away, I was kicked out!” he said indignantly.

“So I’ve heard,” Magnus replied grimly. His voice said many things at once, sympathy for Simon being a vampire alone and without a clan, but at the same time, there was something not so forgiving in his tone.

Simon had been sensing for a while that freeing Camille and signing her contract was a lot more serious than he had previously thought.

“I’m sorry. About Camille. I heard you two… That she…” Simon didn’t know how to finish that sentence, but he hoped Magnus understood. “I’ll go.”

He tried to rise to his feet again but stumbled. Magnus rushed forward to catch his arm and haul him up before he could hit the floor. He steadied Simon, his hands under the weak vampire’s arms.

“How long has it been since you fed?”

“Two days,” Simon said meekly. Man, Raphael would have kicked his ass if he hadn’t fed for a quarter of that time.

The concern on Magnus face melted into a look of displeasure.

“Nephilim,” he muttered darkly under his breath, shaking his head as he guided Simon back to the sofa.

“Stay there,” he warned, but Simon was in no state to wander as Magnus disappeared into a room. A second later however, when the scent of blood filled the air and Magnus returned with 3 small blood bags in his hands, Simon felt a wave of adrenaline.

Magnus tossed him a bag and Simon snatched it out of midair and dug in. His surroundings were completely forgotten and as he hungrily finished that first bag, he saw Magnus had placed the two others on the coffee table in front of here he sat on the sofa. He grabbed his second one and tore into it, showing no more decorum than he had for the first.

He was beginning to come back to himself and, in between him finishing the second bag and opening the third, he managed to ask, “You have blood?”

“A High Warlock must always be well stocked,” was the answer Magnus gave, but by then Simon was already downing the third bag and was a little distracted.

When he was done, he looked up at Magnus, who was leaning against a stool across the room, expression unreadable. Then he looked down at himself.

There was blood everywhere. He could feel it starting to dry and crust around his mouth and on his chin. There was a trail of it that had dribbled down his shirt, red, accusing, spots on the cushions and wooden floor where he had splashed the blood in his eagerness.

Suddenly, Simon felt choked up and disgusted with himself. Magnus was letting him stay in his home and he was acting like an animal. He was so wrapped up in his self hate for a moment that he didn’t even notice Magnus move until he was sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

“So I was thinking,” Magnus began, making Simon focus on him, “Since we’re going to be living together, you might want to introduce yourself properly. Of course, you were also at Alexander’s wedding, and I summoned up a Writ of Transmutation for you to sign, but it occurs to me that we haven’t officially met.”

Simon hadn’t realized that. It was strange to think about as he had heard about Magnus from Clary, Luke and a little from Raphael, and surely Clary had mentioned his name when she was asking Magnus if he could stay with him, but they had never officially met.

Before he could stop it, the thought crossed his mind that he was pathetic enough that someone who was practically a stranger would take him in.

When Simon didn’t answer, Magnus sighed, a smile playing at his lips.

“Good idea, just let me guess, it’ll be more fun that way.” Magnus rested his chin in his hand and put on an expression of deep thought. “Hmm. Well. Yes.”

Simon watched him, unsure of where this was going.

“With what I know of your heritage, I’m going to go with… Séamus. Yes, Séamus.”

Despite himself, Simon snickered. Magnus shot him a blinding grin.

“Yeah, Séamus is a more common name for Latino Jewish guys than you would think,” Simon joked back, feeling better as Magnus let out a laugh. As Simon leaned back on the sofa he could feel the blood slosh around in his stomach. Eating so much after having nothing for two days was not a good idea. He quickly went from smiling to grimacing.

Magnus was able to read the change in his expression. “I would have made you drink slower, but I quite like having both my arms attached to my body.”

Simon smiled apologetically and Magnus’ face softened. “Come on. I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

 

 

…

 

 

“I just have to go back in time and find this spell book? That sounds suspiciously easy,” Simon said. “What’s the catch?”

He said it innocently enough, mostly just teasing. Clary had already won him over with the speech about how this was their best chance at beating Valentine and, if he was being honest, there was very little he wouldn’t do for Clary.

He thought the catch, at most, might be something like “Oh, time travel will be incredibly painful” (which he eventually turned out to be right about), or “The ingredients for the ritual will cost in the upper hundreds of dollars and you’ll have to pitch in” (he was also right about that).

The look on Clary’s face hinted the consequences were a little worse than that.

“Clary? What is it?” 

When she didn’t answer immediately, Magnus chimed in, “It’s just a little bit illegal, dear, but we’ve got it handled.”

“A little bit illegal? Like, what percentage are we talking here?” Simon said, trying not to sound anxious. If it would stop Valentine, he would do it, no question. But breaking the law was a lot more serious in the Shadow World. 

Hell, the Shadowhunter idea of justice if a Downworlder broke the law was to kill them. And they were no more merciful to their own people. Simon remembered when Magnus explained what would have happened if Isabelle had been de-runed. She would have been be thrown out into the world with no protection and there were a number of Downworlders out there who would jump at the chance to kill a Shadowhunter, even if she did nothing to them personally.

Not that the vampire idea of justice was much nicer, what with the order to kill Simon presumably still standing.

“Well, it’s 100 percent illegal,” Clary admitted.

“Oh,” Simon said plainly. 

“I’m so sorry, Simon, I volunteered to go through the portal, but Magnus said I wouldn’t survive it. I wish I didn’t have to ask you to do this,” Clary said, concern clear on her face.

Simon leaned across the sofa to put a hand on her arm.

“Hey, Clary, it’s okay. I want to stop Valentine as much as anyone.”

Clary met his eyes and gave a small smile, but she still looked guilty.

“Yes, well,” Magnus said from where he was perched beside Clary on the arm of his sofa, “We’ve got a bit of a way to go before we’re ready for that.”

Simon made eye contact with him and was surprised to see his forehead was creased with worry.

Magnus didn’t tiptoe around Simon like Clary did, but he was no where near as cold as some of the Shadowhunters at the Institute had been. Simon could see why he was so respected, not just among the Warlocks but in the Downworld in general. Despite only knowing him for a short time, Simon trusted him and if Magnus was worried, Simon was slightly terrified.

“The book we need, the spell that’s in it… Well, if the Clave ever found out we had it, much less used it…” Magnus began.

“But if it stops Valentine’s army then we have to do everything we can,” Clary insisted.

“I know, Biscuit, that’s why I told you about this spell. I have no desire to see my people die at the hands of that dangerous fool again. But Simon needs to know all the risks,” Magnus said, his eyes glued to Simon’s face, trying to weigh his reactions.

“You guys can stop being cryptic any time now and tell me what the deal is,” Simon said, starting to feel exasperated. 

“ _An Leabhar Draíochta_ is ancient, full of all sorts of spells modern Warlocks would shy away from. But there’s rumors that one of the spells involves… How do I put this…” Magnus trailed off, a look of distaste on his face. “It attracts angel blood and removes it from a being, pulling it out of the body.”

“Woah,” was all Simon could say. He stared, wide eyed, at Magnus and Clary, disbelieving. “Is that possible?”

Magnus nodded at him. “It isn’t beyond belief. When I said the book is ancient, I meant it. It’s theorized to be from around 2400 BC. There are records from that time documenting a war between the Warlocks and the Seelies. It’s possible Warlocks devised a way to remove angel blood in order to weaken the Seelies.”

“And we want to use this spell against Valentine’s Shadowhunters. You can see why the Clave wouldn’t like it,” Clary said. 

Simon thought that was a bit of a simplification. He was pretty sure the Clave would kill them all for knowing that removing angel blood from a Shadowhunter was even a possibility.

Simon glanced at Magnus and from his expression he guessed he knew this too. Maybe Clary and the Shadowhunters would get off with just being de-runed, if they were lucky. But for Simon and Magnus, they would be killed if they were caught doing this, without a doubt.

But here Magnus was, still pitching this idea to him.He had lived through one war with Valentine and now he was willing to risk his life to prevent a second. There was only one choice Simon could make in the face of that.

“So, what you’re saying is, it’s doubly illegal,” Simon said, doing his best to seem unaffected.

Magnus gave him a small smile and Simon felt a wave of pride wash over him, finally feeling a part of something for the first time since he had left the Clan. Clary beamed at him and he couldn’t help but grin back.

He wasn’t doing it for Clary, or for Magnus. He quite enjoyed living (or whatever you wanted to call life as a vampire) and Valentine was known for how viciously he treated Downworlders. He didn’t want to die (again), he didn’t want Magnus to die, and even if he and the other vampires were enemies now, that didn’t mean he’d want them to die either.

“There are no records of the spell being used, but I don’t think it will kill them. In large numbers I doubt the spell will be able to separate all angel blood from human, but even still, they will loose most of their angelic abilities and I’d say the blood loss alone will make them weak. Though I suppose exsanguination is your specialty, Sandra Dee,” Magnus finished with a wry smile.

Simon fought against rolling his eyes.

Magnus could disappear for days at a time and Simon would have no idea where he was. He felt a little weird staying in Magnus’ place without Magnus around and when he told Magnus this, Magnus had insisted on movie night to make him more comfortable in the apartment. Three days ago, they watched Grease and since then it wasn’t uncommon for Magnus to frequently address him as Sandra Dee, or to even serenade him with the entire song whenever he walked into the room.

Simon had ruled out any more movie nights.

“Number one, you know I’ve only ever drank from blood bags, and number two, can we go back to this whole “I don’t _think_ it will kill them” thing that you just said?” 

“Si, you heard Magnus, there’s no records of what actually happens when the spell is used. And if it does come down to the absolute worst case scenario… Think of how many people they’ve hurt, of how many they’ll kill if they’re not stopped,” Clary said, her voice hard. 

Simon had to wonder if, deep down, when she said talked about the people they’ve hurt, if she was thinking of Jace.

 _That was unfair_ , came the thought. Valentine had betrayed Luke and left him for dead, he’d scared Jocelyn so much that she pretended to be Mundane for years. They’d only just gotten her back from where Valentine had been holding her captive. Between that and being Clary’s father, he could see why she’d want to hurt him back so badly, though he doubted she’d let it go as far as mass murder, even if she said differently. She was playing tough, Simon had known her long enough to know that was how she acted when she felt hurt and vulnerable.

“Still… Why don’t we ask Jocelyn and Luke? They were, like, full blown Shadowhunters, they might have had access to other records,” Simon suggested.

“If you two would stop panicking for a second, I could explain why I honestly don’t think the spell will be fatal. If a bunch of Seelies were drained of angelic blood and killed a few thousand years ago, we would know. Believe me, Seelies have long memories. The absence of records is a good thing,” Magnus said loudly before Clary could answer.

“Oh,” Clary and Simon said simultaneously, more than a little embarrassed. 

“Sometimes I forget how new the two of you are to this,” Magnus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The spell was likely developed too late to be used in the war.”

“Besides, my mom isn’t even allowed to leave the Institute,“ Clary said, still a little pink in the face. "They’re watching her every move and they know how close she is with Luke, so they’re probably watching him too.”

“The less they know, the safer they are, especially Luke,” Magnus said, sharing a look with Simon.

Since all the vampire nonsense had begun, Luke had been there for Simon and it didn’t feel right to do this without involving him and Jocelyn. But Simon knew Magnus was right. There was no need to put anymore lives at risk, especially not the life of the alpha of the New York pack.

“Okay,” Simon said with finality. “Let’s get started then.”

 

 

…

 

 

“How are you feeling?” Magnus asked almost as soon as he exited the portal, his voice laced with concern.

“Good,” Simon said. It was the truth after all. After what happen with Raphel, he felt better than he had since he arrived in 1956. “But I’ll be better when you explain what happened the other day.”

“Right. Of course,” Magnus said. He straightened his shirt, then gestured to the lavish red sofa where Simon had woke up with a concussion the day before. “Do you want to sit down? I can get you something to drink.”

Deciding that it would be too reminiscent of the night he moved in with Magnus, he declined. “I’ll sit and listen, but I’ll pass on the drink, thanks.”

Simon sat and Magnus pulled up a footstool to sit across from Simon.

“It’s a long explanation, but before I start I want you to know I’m sorry.”

When Simon thought of all the things Magnus had done for him, future and past, he couldn’t hate him. But the sting of the cuts on his face didn’t let him forgive and forget completely. He nodded for Magnus to go on.

“I’ll start at the beginning then,” Magnus said with a sigh. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his legs. “We know Bernard killed Cecil Hazelwood for the book in 1942.”

Simon was a little taken aback. He wasn’t expecting the whole necklace mess to have Bernard involved.

“That’s 14 years ago. Why did he only start summoning demons now?” Magnus asked. “It didn’t make any sense.”

“What about all that stuff you said about a blood spell? Was that a lie too?”

Magnus looked down at his hands, guilty. “Simon, no. I think the blood spell is there, it would make sense for Cecil Hazelwood to take that precaution. But that doesn’t answer why Bernard has only started summoning recently. He could have found Hazelwood Jr. easily, the minute he came to the US even. So I thought about it. And then I realized something. The book you’re looking for was written around the time of a Warlock-Seelie war.”

“Really? I didn’t know that,” Simon mumbled sheepishly, though he was still confused about where this was going.

“And of course, energy channeling spells have been around forever. Seelie dimensional portals are huge sources of energy, so it makes sense that ancient Warlocks would find a way to channel that energy into their magic. Is it a stretch to think that it might also work with time portals?” Magnus continued, unaware of the bomb he just dropped on Simon.

“Wait, are you saying it’s my fault Bernard has the power to summon demons now?”

“No, no, not exactly,” Magnus reassured him. “I came up with a theory. I think Bernard is just like Hazelwood. Son of a Warlock, but with no real magic of his own. But he wanted magic, bad enough to kill for it. He heard how powerful the spell book was and thought it could help him, but I doubt it ever worked. It would explain why he couldn’t summon, even when he had the book.

“Until there you were, hurtling back through time. Not much is known about time travel, due to the fact it is very, very illegal. Even us more knowledgeable Warlocks don’t know everything. But incantations have meaning and I think whatever spell he was messing with literally yanked you out of the time stream into 1956. That would create a rip in time from where he’s channeling the power to summon.”

“So that’s why I’m here and not in 1942,” Simon said. All this time he had figured it was because Magnus got hurt while casting the spell. 

“I thought so. But there was only one way to confirm my theory,” Magnus said, looking remorseful again. “There’s residual energy from time travel all over you. No one would ever see it if they weren’t looking for it, but…”

“But if Bernard was looking for it, he’d go after me. And you would know your theory was true,” Simon realized.

“You were bait,” Magnus confirmed. “I can tell you all my reasons - my theory was a long shot, I underestimated Bernard’s power to summon demons, I overestimated your power to fight them - but it doesn’t change the fact you were hurt because of my carelessness.”

Simon didn’t know how to feel. It was a lot to take in but it was hard to be mad when Magnus was beating himself up so much. He wasn’t sure how old Magnus was and he didn’t know what kind of difference 70 years made to a Warlock, but he suddenly seemed so much younger than when Simon had known him in 2016, so much more unsure.

“It had been a week of you wandering around Downworlder establishments and there was no sign of anyone paying you more attention than they should. The night you were attacked I was waiting at the warehouse to tell you that you could stop searching, but then the pendant let me know you were in trouble.”

Simon sighed and went to rub his hand down his face, forgetting about the cuts. He’d only been a vampire for a few months but he was already so used to healing quickly. He hissed as he brushed off his wounds.

“Can you at least get the time energy… residue… stuff off of me?” he asked.

Magnus shook his head. “You’re not of this time so there’s no way to remove it completely. But when you were here recovering I put a glamour over you so no one should be able to sense it, no matter how hard they’re looking.”

“Okay,” Simon said, and sighed again. “Okay. So what do we do know that we know he’s channeling energy from the time portal?”

It was hard for him to say that sentence without cringing. Of course, he had been the one to travel through time, but now that he was here, talking about rips in the space time continuum in full seriousness, he couldn’t help feeling ridiculous, even if his little nerd heart was singing with joy.

Magnus paused for a moment, confused that Simon seemed to have forgiven him so quickly.

“It’s alright, Magnus. I know you’re a good person, and I know you didn’t plan for me to get hurt.”

Magnus seemed even more surprised. “I - well, that - Then I’m sorry that I have to give you more bad news.”

Simon didn’t react, because honestly? Except for Raphael, these past two and a half months had just been one piece of bad news after another.

“I have no idea how to stop Bernard, other than stop his access to the spell book,” Magnus continued.

“Well, not every plan has to be super complicated. We can just track him down and take the book off of him,” Simon said. 

Magnus still didn’t look reassured.

“We can and it will prevent Bernard from siphoning more energy off of the time stream, but… Simon, time is extremely volatile. That’s why time travelling is illegal, that’s why we know so little about it. Too much messing at the time stream could wipe out a whole dimension. And here and now, in 1956, we’re in an extremely precarious position. If we were to try open up yet another rip in time…

“Simon, what I’m trying to say is, I don’t think there’s anyway we can send you back to your own time without risking the entire world in the process.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was only meant to write a paragraph at most mentioning how Simon moved in with Magnus but then over 1k of words happened. Whoops. This chapter was a little light on actual Saphael goodness, but anyone disappointed by that is going to love the the next few chapters (at least I hope so). 
> 
> Thank you to anyone who's left comments and kudos so far!!! Each one means the world to me!! I really want to get this fic done before season 2 airs, so hopefully I'll be posting a little more regularly :)


End file.
